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'TIMBER 


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"TIMBER" 


BY 

HAROLD   TITUS 

Author  of 
"  The  Last  Straw,"  "  Bruce  of  the  Circle  A,"  etc. 


BOSTON 
SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPTSIQHT,   1922 

BY  SMALL,  MAYNARD    &  COMPANY 
( Incobporated) 


Ajp4l,-:Foiestr\^ 


4.r 


\ 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


/     THE   MURRAY   PRINTING   COMPANY 
CAMBRIDQE,    MABS. 


^'TIMBER" 


CHAPTER  I 

A  WHITE  Florida  moon  hung  low  over  the  river,  flanked, 
for  Luke  Taylor  and  his  son  John,  by  a  yellow  pine  and 
a  moss-bearded  oak.  The  night  was  mild  and  young  John 
was  dressed  in  summer  clothing,  but  Luke  sat  drawn  into 
his  mink-lined  overcoat,  as  if  the  outlook  from  the  wide 
verandah  of  his  winter  home  were  of  the  bleak  north 
instead  of  the  edge  of  the  tropics.  His  withered  hands  lay 
on  the  arm  of  the  wicker  chair  and  his  cold  eyes  stared 
straight  before  him. 

"So  you  think  I  owe  you  that,  do  you?" 

John  shifted  uneasily  and  ran  a  big  white  hand  through 
his  light  hair. 

"You  see,  father,  if  I'm  to  have  an  even  start  with  other 
men  of  my  —  sort,  it's  necessary. " 

Luke  grunted  skeptically. 

"Of  course  T  could  start  out  now  and  find  a  job,  go  to 
work  for  some  of  my  friends  who  are  no  better  equipped 
to  hold  an  advantage  over  me  than  I  am  over  them,  but 
who've  been  —  who've  had  fathers  who  helped  them. " 

"You  mean  it's  work  you  don't  want?"  Luke  asked, 
still  watching  the  river. 

"Of  course  not;  I'm  not  afraid  of  work,  but  I  don't 
want  to  put,  in  the  best  years  of  my  life  grubbing  when  I 
might  be  building." 

"A  flying  start  —  that's  what  you  want,  eh?" 

1 


4 


2      .  TIMBER 

Luke's  blue  eyes  swung  to  his  son  and  studied  the 
young  face. 

''That's  it.'' 

"Hum,  a  flyin'  start!  And  I  suppose  that's  what  all  you 
young  bucks  're  looking  for  now.  You  don't  want  to  grub 
out  a  foundation;  you  want  that  done  for  you." 

The  old  man  drew  a  long  breath. 

"We  never  thought  of  them  things,"  he  said  with  a 
hint  of  bitterness.  "The  start  I  got  —  an'  I  was  younger 
than  you  are  now  —  was  standin'  to  my  waist  in  the 
Saginaw,  with  th'  river  gone  mad  with  ice  an'  logs. 
That  wa'n't  much  like  a  flyin'  start.  It  was  hard  toil, 
until  th'  water  warmed  an'  the  last  log  was  in  the  boom. 
Then  it  was  a  summer  in  th'  mills  and  when  the  snow 
came,  back  to  th'  woods  again.  Five  —  Six?  Devil 
himself  knows  how  many  years,  we  didn't  count  years 
then;  not  lads  my  age.  There  was  time  a-plenty.  Harmon 
put  me  to  head  th'  drive;  then  I  was  woods  boss,  an'  later 
he  made  me  walkin'  boss  for  five  camps.  Come  next  fall 
he  took  my  savin's,  and  what  they  bought  give  me  my 
chance  to  buy  pine  of  my  own —  Pine!"  He  spoke  the 
word  as  if  it  should  be  capitalized.   He  sighed. 

"From  then  on  it  was  a  fight  against  debt  an'  rivers  an' 
men.  I'd  learned  about  men  an'  rivers  when  I  was  dryin' 
my  socks  around  some  other  man's  stove.  I  had  to  learn 
about  debt  myself,  an'  that  was  all.  I  did  learn,  an'  I 
made  money,  I  did  things  that  even  old  Harmon  was 
afraid  to  do.  I  took  what  other  men  thought  was  chances 
an'  made  big  on  'em;  but  they  wasn't  chanceSc  I  knew 
that,  because  I  knew  about  men  an'  rivers,  an'  debt  — 
finally." 

"You  surely  — ,"  began  John. 


TIMBER  3 

"Wait!  It  aint  just  the  amblin'  of  an  old  man.  I^m 
goin'  some  place.  For  a  long  time  youVe  been  fixin' 
for  this.  I  know/'  nodding  fiercely.  "IVe  watched  an' 
waited  to  see  when  you'd  screw  up  your  nerve." 

John  stirred  uneasily,  but  his  father  proceeded. 

"An'  what  did  all  that  work  an'  knowledge  mean?  It 
meant  a  fortune!"  Within  the  house  a  man  with  sleek 
black  hair  spoke  quietly  into  a  desk  telephone,  and  Luke 
jerked  his  head  toward  him.  "Rowe,  there,  can  tell  you 
how  much  it  is.  I  don't  even  pay  attention  to  that,  now. 
I  used  to  keep  my  own  books,  used  to  be  proud  to  figure 
that  fortune  —  no  longer!" 

He  shook  his  head  and  the  old  mouth  set  grimly. 

*'I'd  give  it  all,  every  dollar,  every  cent;  give  my  credit 
to  the  last  dime  to  be  back  there  again  with  an'  ice-cold 
river  huggin'  my  legs  an'  a  peavy  in  my  hand,  gettin'  my 
start,  learnin'  about  men  an'  timber  an'  wonderin'  about 
debt.  I  read  the  other  day  about  a  doctor  that  makes 
men  young.  Paper  talk!  But  if  it  was  true,  if  he  could 
make  me  young  again,  I'd  want  to  leave  all  I've  made 
with  the  old  shell  and  go  back  to  th'  beginning  once  more 
with  nothin'  but  my  hands."  He  eyed  his  old  palms, 
protruding  from  the  sleeves  of  the  overcoat.  "Only  — 
steady  hands. "  ^>     ^^ . 

Luke  again  looked  at  the  moon,  now  edging  toward  the 
pine  trees. 

"But  there's  nothin'  to  go  back  to,  nothin'  I  care  about! 
Th'  Pine  that  made  me  dream  dreams  when  I  was 
drivin'  the  Saginaw  's  gone.  No  Michigan  White  Pine 
left,  which  was  the  only  White  Pine  worth  th'  name! 
Western  —  yes;  mixed  stands;  it  ain't  the  real  old 
quality;  not  th'  cork."    He  shook  his  head.    "An'  such 


4  TIMBER 

as  that!"  a  contemptuous  gesture  toward  the  plume  into 
which  the  moon  drifted,  ''  counterfeit  pine ! "  He  breathed 
audibly  through  his  open  mouth  and  turned  to  glare  at 
his  son  who  sat  motionless. 

''Counterfeit!  So's  my  life!  They  tell  me  it  was  th' 
weeks  in  cold  water  that  drives  me  down  here  when  the 
geese  comes  over  Detroit,  an'  keeps  me  here  until  the  ice 
is  out  of  the  Great  Lakes.  They  tell  me  it's  th'  cold  of 
Michigan  rivers  that's  in  my  bones  now.  It  ain't!  I  know 
what  it  is!"  He  wriggled  deeper  into  his  fur  coat,  mutter- 
ing inarticulately. 

"It's  somethin'  else  that's  gone,  boy.  It's  the  Pine! 
You  young  bucks  ain't  what  we  were.  There's  nothin'  to 
make  your  blood  jump  like  a  White  Pine  forest  did  mine! 
If  I  could  lose  every  penny  even  now,  old  as  I  am,  but 
could  walk  through  a  stand  of  real  Michigan  timber 
again,  I  wouldn't  be  cold.  Them  days,  I  could  sink  my 
axe  to  th'  eye  every  blow;  with  a  saw  gang,  I  could  finish 
my  fifteen  thousand  a  day,  an'  th'  days  were  short,  too. 
There  was  somethin'  in  that,  which  you  bucks  can't 
know.  Pine!  Pine,  standin'  there,  straight  an'  true,  trees 
thick  as  hair  on  a  dog,  waitin'  for  good  men  to  come  an' 
get  it!" 

He  seemed  to  shrink  in  size  as  his  voice  fell. 

"Gad!  It  warms  me  to  think  about  goin'  into  Pine 
again!  Not  to  make  money!"  with  a  sudden  cry.  "To 
cut!  To  drive!  To  saw  it!  To  see  a  forest  all  about  you 
when  th'  snow  flies  an'  to  know  that  when  winter  breaks 
up  there'll  be  sections  with  nothin'  left  but  tops  an' 
stumps  on  'em;  to  know  that  it's  your  hands  an'  your 
men's  hands  that'll  do  it!  There's  power  in  that,  boy, 
because  logs  build  homes  an'  homes  build  nations! 


TIMBER  5 

"Some  flap-doodle  old  women  are  callin'  us  destroyers 
and  devastators!  What  was  timber  for?  They  use  it, 
don't  they,  while  they  yell  about  what  weVe  done!  They 
sob  about  th'  next  generation,  but  why  th'  hell  should  we 
care  about  what's  comin'?  Didn't  Michigan  Pine  build 
th'  corn  belt?  An'  where 'd  this  country  be  without  its 
grain  lands  now?  Didn't  Michigan  Pine  build  cities  that 
make  the  country  wealthy?  Hump!  What's  th'  next 
generation  to  me?  Every  generation  has  its  work  to  do. 
Anyhow  look  at  yourself!  Bah!  you  want  to  commence 
to  learn  some  business  from  th'  top  down.  You  want  to 
put  on  th'  cornice  before  you've  got  the  foundation  in, 
because  you  don't  want  th'  rough  work.  You're  the  kind 
that  these  old  women  are  worrying  over.  I  tell  you,  boy, 
you  an'  your  like  don't  deserve  worry  from  anybody,  even 
from  an  old  woman  in  pants. " 

"That's  unfair!"  John  half  rose  as  he  said  it,  and  color 
rushed  into  his  face. 

"This  has  been  corked  up  in  me  too  long  now!"  His 
son  settled  back.  "Unfair,  am  I?  If  you  think  that's 
unfair,  wait  till  I  get  through!  You  come  to  me  for  what 
you  call  a  start,  an'  what  my  daddy  would  call  a  finish. 
You,  with  your  six  feet,  your  hunderd-eighty  pounds  of 
youth,  your  strong  back  an'  good  eye,  an'  a  better  educa- 
tion than  any  of  us  ever  had;  you  who're  fitted  for  harder 
work  than  any  of  us,  an'  now  you  don't  want  to  muss  up 
your  hands!" 

"You  don't  consider  one  thing,  sir,"  John  cried.  "You 
blame  me  for  not  doing  the  way  your  generation  did,  and 
you  don't  stop  to  think  that  this  is  no  longer  your  gen- 
eration." 

"I  don't,  eh?    1  don't  consider  that?    You  don't  con- 


J 


6  TIMBER 

sider  then,  young  man,  that  I'm  not  only  tryin'  to  give 
you  hell  but  to  include  your  whole  generation,  if  you're 
a  sample  of  it.  Listen  to  me!"  wriggling  erect  again. 
*'I  come  up  on  a  Pennsylvania  farm  with  never  enough 
to  wear,  an'  sometimes  not  enough  to  eat.  I  worked  from 
th'  time  I  can  remember.  When  I  went  to  school  it  was 
because  there  was  no  work  to  do.  You  come  up  in  a  house 
that  when  it  was  built  was  th'  finest  in  all  Detroit.  You 
had  more  clothes  in  your  first  ten  years  than  I'd  had 
before  you  were  born.  What  was  spent  on  your  grub  in 
one  month  would' ve  kept  my  brothers  an'  sisters  a  year, 
an'  I've  lost  track  how  many  of  us  there  was.  You  never 
did  a  tap  for  yourself  from  th'  time  your  mother  turned 
you  over  to  a  nurse  girl  until  you  went  to  college,  an'  then 
you  lived  in  a  club  with  a  nigger  to  look  after  you.  You've 
gone  through  all  the  schools  there  are,  an'  what  I  spent 
on  you  would've  educated  my  school  district. " 

He  tapped  the  arm  of  his  chair  with  a  trembling  hand. 
''When  you  got  out  of  college,  I  sort  of  thought  maybe 
you'd  start  in  an'  help  th'  old  man  out,  you  bein'  th'  only 
child,"  a  mild  disappointment  in  the  tone.  "Anyhow. 
I  thought  —  But  you  didn't.  I  had  to  have  somebody, 
so  I  hired  Rowe.  He  knows  how  to  work;  not  like  I  did, 
not  with  an  axe  of  course,  but  with  his  head.  Work's  all 
pretty  much  the  same.  He's  a  good  boy,  but  sometimes 
it  grinds  me  to  think  I  have  to  turn  my  affairs  over  to 
some  other  man's  son  to  run.  You're  as  strong  as  I  ever 
was;  you  know  about  things  that  I  never  heard  of," 
voice  rising —  *'But  I'm  through!  I'm  goin'  on  th' 
back  trail  again.  Now —  you  talk!"  and  from  his  tone 
it  was  certain  that  he  added  in  his  own  thoughts,  "If  you 
dare!" 


TIMBER  7 

Young  John  dared.  He  rose  slowly,  and  stood  looking 
down  at  his  father,  feet  spread,  hands  in  pockets  of  his 
smart  coat. 

"That's  the  hardest  ride  I've  ever  taken, "  he  said.  "It 
wasn't  very  pleasant,  I  wouldn't  have  stood  it  this  way  if 
I  thought  you  understood.    You  don't." 

Luke  grunted.  "If  I  had  been  a  young  man  in  your 
generation,  I'd  have  started  as  you  did,  because  that  was 
the  way  all  men  began.  It  was  backs  and  brains  that  made 
money  then.    It  isn't  that  way  now." 

"What  makes  money,  then?" 

"Money."  Luke  eyed  his  son  who  waited  a  moment 
before  going  on:  "Money  makes  money.  The  man  with 
money  makes  money.  The  man  who  starts  without  it 
now  is  under  as  much  of  a  handicap  as  you  would  have 
been  if  your  back  had  been  weak.  Your  father  gave  you 
your  back  to  start  with.  The  fathers  of  sons  today  give 
them  money  to  make  a  beginning.  I  don't  consider,  then, 
when  I  ask  you  to  set  me  up,  that  I  am  asking  any  more 
than  you  expected  in  your  time.  A  different  sort  of  favor, 
but  it's  no  greater. " 

The  old  man  snuggled  down  into  his  chair. 

"WeU?" 

"  That's  —  that's  all,  sir. " 

One  withered  hand  tapped  the  chair  arm  testily. 

"If  I  give  you  money,  how  do  I  know  you  have  got 
sense  enough  to  use  it  to  make  more?  What've  you  ever 
donef' 

John  shifted  one  foot  slowly.  i 

"Well  I  was  a  captain  in  — " 

"Don't  make  me  laugh;  I've  got  a  stitch  in  my  side. 
Captain  in  the  Quartermaster  Corps,  eh?  An'  what  else?  " 


8  TIMBER 

"There  hasn't  been  time  for  much  else." 

"Time!  Good  God,  boy,  you've  been  out  of  th'  army 
most  a  year!  What've  you  done  with  that  year?  Tame 
women?  Yes.  Hump!  From  where  I  sit  you  seem  to  be  a 
pretty  capable  Turk,  or  maybe  it's  my  money  they  want 
—  like  you  want  it.  Do  you  list  that  with  your  refer- 
ences? Your  luck  with  these  flossy  young  petticoats?" 
The  boy  flushed  so  deeply  that  it  was  evident  even  in  the 
dim  light.  "An'  this  little  wisp  of  goldenrod,  she  seems 
to  have  run  th'  others  out.  I  s'pose  you  think  I  owe  her 
something. " 

"J  owe  Marcia  something.    That  much  is  true." 

"Our  women  used  to  put  up  with  hardships,  shoulder 
to  shoulder." 

"Our  women  don't  do  that,  they  are  a  different  breed." 

Inside,  a  telephone  bell  w^hirred. 

"Yes,  a  different  breed.  You  said  it  there;  different. 
Like  you  bucks  are  different."  Luke  nodded  sagely;  his 
mouth  was  shut,  letting  his  loose  cheeks  sag  over  the 
corners.  "You  want  it  in  a  hurry;  all  that  matters  is  the 
reward.   The  race  don't  mean  anything." 

A  sudden  resentment  rang  in  that  tone.  John  stirred 
uneasily.  He  did  not  speak,  nor  did  the  old  man's  lips 
relax.  The  telephone  called  again,  then  steps  on  the 
rug,  and  Philip  Rowe  crossed  the  room  hurriedly.  They 
heard  his  voice. 

"Yes,  this  is  Mr.  Taylor's  residence  —  No  —  This  is 
Mr.  Taylor's  secretary  speaking." 

"Secretary!"  snorted  Luke. 

"Give  me  the  message  please,  —  all  ready  — '* 

And  from  Luke:  "Bookkeeper!  Bookkeeper!  They've 
all  got  their  notions." 


TIMBER  9 

The  French  doors  were  open  and  John  Taylor  did  not 
care  to  continue  his  discussion  under  the  ears  of  the  sleek 
Rowe  who  was  writing  hurriedly  on  a  pad.  When  he  was 
through  he  stood  up  and  read  what  he  had  written,  strok- 
ing his  small  mustache  thoughtfully.  Luke  roused  and 
strained  to  look  over  his  shoulder. 

''Forme,  Rowe?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Taylor.  A  telegram  from  McLellan.  I  will 
frame  an  answer." 

He  had  stepped  outside,  the  paper  m  his  hand.  His 
voice  was  slow,  even  and  assured. 

"What  was  it?" 

"About  the  Blueberry  hardwood." 

"Oh!"  Luke  sat  back,  rubbing  his  nose  with  a  knuckle. 
"He's  looked  it  up?" 

"Yes,  sir.  There  are  about  three  hundred  thousand  feet 
left." 

"Three  hunderd  thousand!"  He  looked  at  Rowe  with 
a  decided  glitter  of  rage.  The  secretary  retui'ned  the  stare 
and  shook  his  head  slowly.  After  a  moment  Luke's  gaze 
wandered  as  he  again  rubbed  his  sharp  nose  with  a  thin 
knuckle.  It  came  to  rest  on  his  son's  face,  enigmatic, 
speculative.    His  lips  worked. 

"Three  hunderd  thousand  of  hardwood  logs,"  he 
mumbled,  "an'  the  price  of  lumber  gone  hog-wild  —  eh!" 

He  settled  back  and  his  hands,  palms  up,  lay  relaxed  on 
the  chair  arms.  A  queer  smile  played  around  his  mouth 
and  the  wrath  died  in  his  eyes. 

"Boy,  a  man's  never  so  apt  to  be  wrong  as  when  he's 
too  sure,"  he  began.  Rowe  started  to  withdraw,  but  Luke's 
gesture  stayed  him.  "I  don't  want  to  be  wrong  on  this. 
—  John  an'  me,  Rowe,  have  been  talkin'  business.     He's 


10  TIMBER 

decided  it's  time  he  does  something  to  make  his  — 
fortune,"  dryly.  "WeVe  had  a  little  argument,  which 
didn't  get  us  much  of  anywhere.  John  calculates  I  owe 
him  somethin',  and  mebby  I  do  —  after  hearing  what 
he's  had  to  say  to  me  tonight."  There  was  a  streak  of 
grit  in  the  tone,  as  though  he  repressed  some  strong 
impulse.  "He  wants  a  start,  a  flyin'  start  —  somethin' 
he  can  turn  over  quick,  an'  not  have  to  monkey  along  at 
hard  work  and  spend  the  years  I  did  — "  He  licked  his 
lips  and,  before  his  disconcerting  manner,  John  stirred 
uneasily. 

"John's  got  a  better  education  than  I  ever  had.  He's 
more  sure  of  himself  than  I  was  at  his  age.  He  thinks  I 
don't  understand  him,  an'  mebby  I  don't. "  He  wheezed 
an  odd  laugh  and  rubbed  his  nose  briskly.  "Ah-he! 
There's  nothin'  so  likely  to  upset  a  man  as  bein'  too 
sure. 

"Son,"  sobering  and  stirring  in  his  chair,  "logs  are 
worth  money  today.  Three  hundred  thousand  of  hard- 
wood's worth  what  I'd  have  called  a  lot  of  money.  How'd 
that  suit  you,  if  I  give  you  this  three  hundred  thousand  for 
your  start  —  so's  you  wouldn't  have  to  grub  along,  so's 
you'd  have  it  plumb  easy  compared  to  what  I  had?" 

The  secretary's  head  made  a  slight  forward  movement, 
as  in  surprise,  but  Luke's  face  betrayed  nothing,  except  a 
grim  settling  of  the  mouth;  Rowe  then  looked  at  John  and 
the  boy  thought  a  smirk  crossed  his  lips. 

"You  can  make  out  the  papers,  Rowe,  an'  throw  in  that 
forty,"  said  the  old  man.  "You  can  do  it  tomorrow, 
can't  you?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  the  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

Silence  for  a  moment;   Rowe  walked  away,  and  as  he 


TIMBER  11 

crossed  the  room  inside  his  head  rocked  back,  as  though, 
perhaps,  he  laughed  to  himself. 

Young  Taylor  watched  him  go  and  then  turned  to  his 
father. 

"Logs?"  he  asked,  rather  bewildered.  "Why,  I  don't 
know  saw-logs  from — " 

"From  bumble-bees,"  Luke  finished  for  him  with  anger 
in  his  voice  —  and  a  smile  in  his  eyes.  "But,  mebby 
your  fortune's  there,  in  them  logs,  boy.  Fd  'a  jumped  at  a 
gift  like  that  —  You've  heard  about  logs  all  your  life ; 
likely  you  know  more  about  logs  than  you  do  anything 
else  —  Well,  there's  your  chance.  Take  it  or  leave  it. 
— Course,  think  it  over;  think  it  over.  There  ain't  any 
rush  as  far  as  I  can  judge  by  th'  way  you  put  in  your 
time  —  Now  run  along,  I  got  all  stirred  up,  talkin'  about 
Michigan  Pine.  Think  it  over,  Fd  say  it  was  a  hand- 
some start — " 

For  a  moment  their  gazes  met,  and  apprehension  ran 
through  the  younger  man,  for  he  did  not  like  the  sort  of 
smile  that  clung  to  his  father's  eyes;  did  not  like  the  for- 
bidding set  of  his  mouth. 

"Very  well,  sir;  I  will  think  it  over,"  he  said,  trying  to 
cram  his  reply  with  dignity,  and  walked  inside. 

John  stood  before  a  mirror  in  the  library,  studying  his 
own  reflection.  He  did  not  like  this,  it  struck  at  his  con- 
ceit; it  was  distasteful,  but  there  had  been  something  else 
in  his  father's  manner  beside  subtle  derision  —  a  chal- 
lenge, perhaps.  He  sat  down  to  think  it  over. 


CHAPTER  II 

John  Taylor  was  so  absorbed  that  he  did  not  hear  the 
motor  ear  come  up  the  drive  and  stop  at  the  side  of  the 
house.  Philip  Rowe  was  just  leaving,  light  coat  over  his 
arm,  when  the  headlights  swung  in  from  the  street  and 
blinded  him.   He  stood  on  the  step  until  the  car  stopped. 

''Hello,  Phil."    It  was  a  girl's  voice,  crisp  and  clear. 

''Marcia?"   He  stepped  forward  and  put  out  his  hand. 

"Is  John  here?"  she  asked,  and  added,  "I  have  an 
engagement  with  him." 

The  interval  before  Rowe  replied  was  long  enough  to 
imply  disappointment.^ 

"He's  in  the  house  now  —  unfortunately!" 

"Flatterer!    Tonight  I  —  " 

"You  what?" 

"Came  for  John—  " 

"And  what  else?   What  were  you  going  to  say?" 

He  moved  nearer  so  he  could  see  her  face,  dimly  revealed 
by  the  dash  light.  She  drew  back,  showing  her  very  white 
teeth. 

"Nothing  at  all,"  she  laughed  lowly,  and  when  he  gave 
a  breath  of  only  half -pretended  dejection,  she  whispered: 
"I  came  for  John  —  tonight!  " 

Rowe  Jooked  quickly  into  the  house,  then  made  as  if 
to  open  the  car  door,  but  the  girl's  hand  flew  out  to  hold 
the  latch  fast. 

"Please,  PhH!" 

12 


TIMBER  13 

Their  gazes  held  a  moment,  bright  with  insinuating 
lights.   Then  Rowe  bowed. 

"Very  well, "  he  said,  and  entered  the  house  to  smnmon 
yoimg  Taylor. 

When  John  appeared  Rowe  was  walking  out  the  drive 
toward  the  street,  very  erect,  with  confidence  in  the  sway 
of  his  shoulders.   The  girl  had  been  watching  him. 

Taylor  spoke  slowly  to  Marcia  Murray  and  smiled  and 
slouched  down  beside  her,  showing  an  ease  that  was  some- 
thing more  than  familiarity  with  this  one  girl.  There  are 
men  who  never  can  be  comfortable  in  the  presence  of  any 
woman,  who  must  always  be  self-conscious  even  before 
the  mothers  of  their  children;  these  are  the  men  who  are 
failures  with  women  and  who  are  secretly  afraid  and 
consciously  inferior.  On  the  other  extreme  are  the  men 
whose  glances  at  women  are  always  penetrating  and  never 
very  curious;  they  have  the  assurance  which  makes  for 
easy  acquaintanceships  that  they  take  lightly  and  which 
thrill  their  gentler  parties;  they  are  at  once  fond  and 
scornful  of  women,  and  know  that  the  one  does  not  live 
who  can  blind  them  to  her  weaknesses;  they  hke  to  see 
this  deception  tried  simply  to  give  them  justification  for 
bringing  some  presumptuous  female  to  humiliation.  The 
chief  difference  between  these  two  types  of  men  is  that 
now  and  again  the  former  is  surprised  by  having  a  triumph 
forced  on  him;  quite  often  the  latter  is  bewildered  by  a 
defeat.   John  Taylor  belonged  to  the  second  group. 

The  car  swung  out  to  the  street. 

"Where  away?"  John  asked. 

She  did  not  respond  to  his  smile. 

"You  are  worried,"  she  said. 

"Not  much." 


14  TIMBER 

"But  some!" 

"Yes." 

"Want  to  talk?" 

"More  than  anything  else." 

She  turned  along  the  car  tracks,  reached  a  small  foot 
for  the  accelerator  and  they  leaped  ahead. 

"Now  talk  to  me,"  she  said. 

"I'd  rather  just  look  at  you. " 

She  lifted  her  chin.  "An  unfair  advantage!  My  eyes 
are  on  the  road. " 

"So's  your  mind.  When  we're  somewhere  else,  I'll 
talk." 

She  dropped  one  hand  from  the  wheel  to  pat  his  knee 
swiftly  and  flashed  a  smile  at  him.  Then  she  kept  busy 
with  driving,  while  Taylor  took  his  unfair  advantage. 

Marcia  Murray  was  small  and  very  trim.  Her  hair, 
even  in  the  cold  light  of  the  arc  under  which  they  swept, 
was  a  glorious  yellow.  Luke  had  called  her  a  wisp  of 
goldenrod  and  John  knew  the  old  man  had  been  half 
contemptuous;  now  the  words  came  back  to  him  and  his 
throat  contracted.  She  was  just  that;  a  stalk  of  golden- 
rod,  fragile,  slight,  lovely.  Her  little  features  were  sharp, 
eyes  large  and  heavy-lashed.  The  silken  legs  stretching 
for  clutch  and  brake  were  as  gently  moulded  as  her  fine 
hands  on  the  wheel. 

They  left  town  and  swept  along  the  paved  drive  through 
scattered  yellow  pines  where  the  moonlight  bathed  the 
girl  and  made  John's  heart  leap  —  She  was  so  like  a 
cameo!  He  could  conjure  all  manner  of  delightful  things 
to  say  of  her  —  And  then  they  slowed  where  the  road 
swung  to  the  right  and  she  let  the  car  roll  from  pavement 
to  turf  beneath  great  oaks  that  dripped  moss  with  the 


TIMBER  15 

river  again  before  them  spattered  by  the  superwhite 
moonlight.  The  engine  stopped  and  upon  them  burst  the 
cries  of  miUions  of  night  bodies,  a  shrill,  sustained  chorus, 
a  metallic  trill.  A  wind  rippled  the  stream  and  moon- 
beams flashed  from  it,  like  rays  from  mirrors.  A  bunch  of 
coots,  sleeping  on  the  water,  showed  black  not  fifty  yards 
from  them. 

Marcia  leaned  forward  and  switched  off  the  dash  light; 
her  slim,  very  cool  hand  found  Taylor's. 

"Now  what?"  she  said  gravely  —  and  Taylor  told 
what  had  taken  place  with  his  father;  told  it,  mostly, 
looking  straight  into  her  eyes,  which  looked  back  at  him, 
wide,  understanding  and  patient,  but  when  he  finished 
his  narrative  of  what  had  happened  and  turned  his 
gaze  out  on  the  river,  the  girl's  eyes  narrowed  ever  so 
slightly,  and  a  look  that  was  not  patience  showed  there. 

"My  father's  a  queer  old  bird,"  he  went  on.  "He's 
never  understood  me.  He's  never  seemed  to  have  much 
interest  in  me,  especially  since  I  went  away  to  college; 
never  stinted  me  in  allowance  and  never  crabbed  because 
I  didn't  settle  down,  but  there  hasn't  been  much  in 
common  —  except  that  we're  father  and  son.  I  hadn't 
intended  to  put  it  up  to  him  quite  this  way,  but  he  forced 
my  hand.  He  doesn't  like  the  notion  of  any  one  getting 
anything  without  sweating  for  it,  he  doesn't  like  to  have 
any  one  have  opinions  of  his  own  —  Logs  are  worth  a 
lot  of  money,  I  know,  but  this  isn't  a  marker  to  what  I'd 
expected  he  would  do  for  me.  He  knows,  as  well  as  I  know, 
that  it  won't  fill  the  bill  and  give  me  any  sort  of  a  start. 
I've  thought  it  over  and  the  only  answer  I  can  find  is  that 
he  wants  to  see  what  I  am  woimd  on. " 

"And  if  you  make  good  on  this  —  ?" 


16  TIMBER 

"Then  he  might  come  across  properly." 

The  girl  put  a  hand  to  his  shoulder  and  shook  him. 

"Then  you  will,  John!  You  have  everything  to  gain, 
nothing  to  lose. " 

He  nodded.  "  That's  about  the  size  of  it.  I  don't  want 
that  sort  of  start,  I've  had  my  share  of  roughing  it  in 
the  army;  but  it's  only  for  a  few  weeks  and  it's  a  good 
gamble  —  if  I  make  good. " 

"Of  course  you  will,"  Marcia  said. 

Taylor  turned  toward  her  impulsively  and  put  both 
arms  around  her  small  body,  looking  down  into  her  moon- 
lit face. 

"Will  you  go  with  me,  Marcia?"  he  asked. 

"Go  with  you?    You  mean—  ?" 

He  nodded.  "Marry  me  now.  Let's  start  together. 
Let's  begin  as  though  this  really  were  the  beginning,  and 
we  were  going  to  make  a  fortune  by  the  strength  of  my 
back  —  Marcia,  will  you?" 

His  voice  was  unsteady  with  eagerness  and  he  drew  her 
closer,  struggling  to  hold  her  face  to  the  moonlight,  but 
she  ducked  it  out  of  his  sight,  buried  it  against  his  shoulder 
and  he  felt  a  shudder  travel  her  body. 

"Marcia!" 

"Don't,  John!" 

"Marcia,  what  is  it?"  He  forced  her  chin  upward  and 
called  her  name  again  when  he  saw  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"What  is  it?" 

She  shook  her  head  and  pressed  knuckles  against  her 
lips,  looking  away.  "It's  the  same  thing  you  tried  to 
explain  to  your  father, "  she  whispered,  voice  husky,  words 
rapid.  "Don't  you  see,  that,  John?  Don't  you  see  that 
to  begin  that  way  is  asking  something  of  me  that  you  have 


TIMBER  17 

tried  to  avoid  yourself?"  He  murmured  contritely  as  she 
went  on.  ^'  I'm  no  more  fitted  to  begin  life  as  a  poor  man's 
wife  than  you  are  to  —  to  work  with  your  back!  It 
isn't  in  me,  dear.  I  feel  small,  mean  and  inferior.  You've 
been  so  big  and  fine  to  me;  I  know  you  need  me,  but  I'm 
thinking  of  the  future.  I  don't  want  to  mar  our  happiness 
by  a  bad  beginning.  I  want  to  be  with  you.  I'd  give  any- 
thing if  I  could  marry  you  now  and  go  into  the  woods  with 
you.  But  what  is  a  girl  to  do?"  She  held  out  a  hand  in 
query,  which  disengaged  his  close  embrace.  "I  can't 
break  away  from  the  environment  of  my  whole  life,  can  I? 
After  I've  been  schooled  to  tastes  for  beautiful  things, 
after  I've  been  taught  to  think  that  nothing  is  worth 
while,  which  is  ugly,  I'm  not  wholly  to  blame  if  I  find  my 
ideas  fixed,  am  I?" 

*' Don't,  Marcia!  It's  all  such  nonsense  to  be  miserable 
over  this. " 

"But  I  am!  Don't  you  see  that  the  two  strongest 
impulses  in  my  life  are  coming  into  conflict  tonight?  On 
one  side  is  my  love  for  you,  on  the  other  my  unfitness  to 
live  a  life  that  is  cramped  by  the  lack  of  money.  I've  been 
on  the  ragged  edge  of  want  ever  since  I  can  remember! 
Here  I  was  with  girls  for  friends  who  knew  no  scrimping, 
no  ugliness,  being  taught  to  devote  my  whole  soul  to  things 
that  they  thought  were  worth  while,  and,  of  course,  things 
that  only  money  could  buy.  And  I  lived  in  a  home  — 
Why,  John,  you  and  I  never  would  have  been  here  tonight 
if  we  hadn't  established  the  practice  of  renting  the  apart- 
ment winters.  Papa  takes  a  room  and  mama  and  I  come 
up  here.  We  couldn't  do  it  unless  we  leased  the  place  we 
live  in  most  of  the  year.  We're  here  now  because  we  had 
to  rent  imtil  the  middle  of  April  this  time!   I  have  a  car 


18  TIMBER 

at  the  cost  of  a  thousand  Httle  privations.  I  have  clothes 
while  my  mother  darns  my  father's  underwear!" 

"Oh,  it's  been  awful!  But  what  could  I  do?  I  was  not 
trained  to  work;  I  was  not  trained  to  undergo  humiliation 
and  hardships.   I  was — " 

"And  you  won't  have  to!"  he  broke  in  savagely.  "I 
was  a  fool  to  ask  this  of  you  tonight.  I  was  carried 
away;  that's  all!  I'll  go  out  and  do  things  for  you,  Marcia. 
I  can  pioneer  as  well  as  my  father  pioneered,  for  a  little 
while.  I  will  show  him  that  I  can  work,  as  he  worked,  if 
necessary.  I'll  make  him  regret  what  he  said  to  me 
and  when  I  do  that,  I'll  bring  comfort  to  you,  sweetheart! 
You're  right!  Your  training  has  been  right!  Money  and 
what  it  will  bring  is  all  that  matters.  How  you  get  it, 
even,  doesn't  count  any  more,  unless  you're  a  downright 
thief.  It's  dog  eat  dog  and  the  weak  man  lose!  I  hate  to 
grub.  I  hate  to  make  a  mean,  slow  beginning,  but  it's  my 
father's  way.  He  doesn't  care  about  money,  but  he  doesn't 
care  about  me  particularly,  either.  If  I  can  make  him  like 
me  by  taking  up  this  offer  —  it  won't  be  long,  Marcia,  it 
won't  be  long!" 

She  yielded  to  his  embrace  again,  and  lifted  her  tear- 
wet  face  to  his.  One  arm  crept  about  his  shoulders  and  lay 
there  —  like  the  caressing  tendril  of  a  flower  —  or  the 
binding  tendril  of  a  creeper;  and  her  eyes,  on  a  distant 
star,  narrowed  again,  though  they  were  still  wet,  as  she 
drew  his  face  into  the  hollow  of  her  soft  throat. 

"I  feel  like  a  rotter,"  he  said.  "I've  come  up  short 
against  the  collar,  when  I  thought  there  was  no  limit  to  the 
leash.  I've  been  doing  you  an  injustice,  been  wasting  our 
youth,  when  we  should  have  every  hour  together.  I've 
been  keeping  you  in  this  damned  uncomfortable  situation 


TIMBER  19 

you  have  at  home,  while  I  dawdled.   Now  Fm  through!" 

"I  knew  I  could  trust  you,"  she  breathed,  and  though 
the  voice  was  very  gentle  and  sweet  it  possessed  a  quality 
which  indicated  that  she  had  arrived  at  that  trust  only 
after  difficulties  —  and  perhaps  she  was  not  yet  sure. 
It  made  the  man  start  and  repeat  his  promise,  lips  against 
her  cheek,  determination  hot  and  not  to  be  questioned. 

Their  hands  met  in  a  clasp  of  good  will,  and  Taylor 
again  pressed  his  kisses  upon  her  lips  and  throat,  and  all 
the  time  her  eyes  were  open,  fixed  on  space,  as  though 
she  listened  for  some  word,  waited  for  some  thought  — 
unshaken  by  his  burst  of  passion. 

They  drove  home  slowly,  John  at  the  wheel,  Marcia 
snuggled  against  him,  her  arm  over  his  shoulder.  Halfway 
in  she  said: 

''John,  don't  you  sometimes  think  Phil  Rowe  is  awfully 
close  to  your  father?   Almost  dangerously  close?" 

"Dangerously?"  he  asked  with  an  idle  laugh.  "I  think 
Phil's  safe  enough." 

'*  I  don't  mean  that  —  Dangerously  for  you.  He 
seems  to  have  a  better  grasp  on  your  father's  affairs  than 
any  one. " 

"Oh,  I  see  —  Of  course,  father  leaves  all  the  details  to 
him,  and  Phil's  a  mighty  competent  chap  for  an 
underling. " 

"He  doesn't  strike  me  as  an  underling." 

John  chuckled.  "He  calls  himself  father's  secretary, 
which  of  course  he  is.  Father  —  insists  on  calling  him 
his  bookkeeper." 

Marcia's  laugh  was  most  perfunctory.  "He's  the  sort 
of  chap  who  would  take  a  lot  of  ridicule  and  wait  for  the 
last  laugh.  He  —  seems  so  tenacious. " 


20  TIMBER 

'' That's  the  sort  father  needs." 

''Perhaps."  A  pause.  ''When  you  are  away,  he  even 
answers  your  letters,  doesn't  he?   He  has  told  me  that. " 

"Father  never  writes  to  me." 

"But  he  spoke  as  if  your  father  didn't  even  dictate 
them;  as  though  he  had  even  the  responsibility  of  giving 
answers  to  his  employer's  son." 

The  motor  speeded  as  John's  foot  unconsciously  pressed 
the  accelerator. 

"He  does  have  a  good  deal  of  authority  — " 

Two  hours  later,  John  Taylor  walked  thoughtfully  up 
the  drive  and  let  himself  in  the  carriage  door.  His  father 
and  mother  were  sitting  in  the  library,  his  mother  reading 
the  newspaper  aloud  to  Luke.  She  took  off  her  glasses 
when  John  came  in. 

After  a  moment  old  Luke  looked  up  and  it  struck  the 
boy  that  his  eye  was  cold,  not  at  all  as  it  usually  appeared 
when  he  talked  to  Philip  Rowe. 

"Father,  I've  decided  to  go  north  right  away,"  John 
said  almost  casually.  "The  sooner  I  am  on  the  job,  the 
sooner  I'll  make  my  start.   I  want  to  thank  you  again. " 

His  mother  made  a  little  flutter  of  pleasure,  but  Luke 
did  not  stir. 

He  spat  in  the  general  direction  of  the  fire  and  rolled  a 
skeptical  eye  at  his  wife. 

"Son,  when  you  get  on  the  job,  think  about  thanks." 

There  was  something  subtly  derisive  in  his  manner. 


CHAPTER  III 

John  Taylor's  good  intentions  to  become  active  at 
once  lasted  until  he  reached  Detroit.  There  he  dawdled  a 
week  with  his  friend  Dick  Mason  and  other  pals,  and  it 
was  not  until  one  afternoon  when  he  telephoned  McLellan, 
his  father's  attorney,  that  he  was  stirred  to  action  again. 

"Mr.  McLellan,  this  is  John  Taylor  —  Yes  —  Oh, 
several  days  —  On  my  way  to  White's  camp  to  look 
after  logs  that  are  there  —  Father  gave  them  to  me,  and 
I  thought—" 

^^Gave  them  to  you!"  came  a  rather  startled  voice. 
''What  for?" 

"A  dowry!" 

"You  mean,  you're  going  to  try  to  do  something  with 
them?" 

"Of  course,"  vaguely  alarmed  by  the  tone.  "I  thought 
perhaps  you  had  some  suggestions." 

A  pause. 

"By  George.  I  haven't  a  suggestion  to  my  back,  John! 
You  know  the  situation  of  course. " 

"Why  —  yes,"  hesitantly. 

"All  right.   Help  you  out  if  I  can;  good-bye." 

The  situation?  McLellan's  voice  had  been  rather 
dumbfounded.  What  situation?  And  his  father's  warning 
to  withhold  his  thanks  until  he  saw  the  logs  —  Rowe's 
smile  when  Luke  first  proposed  the  gift. 

He  did  not  like  it;  there  was  something  here  which 
alarmed  him. 

21 


22  TIMBER 

There  was  to  have  been  a  party  that  night,  with  wine 
smuggled  from  Canada,  but  John  did  not  wait.  He  pre- 
pared to  leave  in  a  mad  rush,  missed  the  last  train  by- 
minutes,  and  on  Dick  Mason's  advice  bought  a  ticket  for 
Pancake,  clear  across  the  country  from  the  logs.  He  could 
drive  in,  however,  and  save  a  day. 

And  so  on  April  5,  1920,  a  sleepy  porter  put  John  off 
at  Pancake,  Michigan,  in  the  gray  mist  of  morning. 

Taylor  had  seen  such  towns  as  this  on  trips  to  Windigo 
Lodge,  Dick  Mason's  fishing  retreat  on  the  Au  Sable, 
hopeless  little  towns  in  the  back-wash  of  progress.  It  had 
a  main  street  of  sand,  now  black  and  rutted  by  spring 
rains,  wooden  sidewalks,  false-fronted  stores  built  of  wood. 
It  boasted  a  court  house  pathetically  struggling  to  set 
itself  up  with  a  measure  of  distinction  with  iron  stamped 
to  indicate  red  brick  for  sheeting,  and  zinc  cornices  of 
extravagant  design.  Beyond  was  the  Commercial  House 
with  its  sign  nearly  weathered  away.  The  bank  was  of 
pressed  brick  and  very  tiny.  The  front  windows  of  the 
office  of  the  Blueberry  Banner  were  broken  and  patched 
with  yellowing  newsprint.  There  was  a  livery  stable  with 
a  high-stepping  wooden  horse  hung  in  front,  and  beneath 
the  enthusiastic  equine  a  board  painted  with  a  word 
indicative  of  the  influence  which  had  deposed  him  from 
his  once  important  estate:  Garage. 

Other  thoroughfares  branched  from  First  Street  and 
as  Taylor  walked  toward  the  hotel  he  could  see  the  dwell- 
ings that  fronted  on  them.  Here  and  there  was  one  which 
pretended  to  be  something,  with  a  tower  on  one  corner 
and  gingerbread  work  dripping  from  the  porches,  but 
others  were  boxes  only  and  needed  paint,  while  numbers 
had  never  known  garnishment  of  any  sort    Beyond  these 


TIMBER  23 

the  quality  and  number  both  frayed  out  until  off  toward 
the  jack  pine  which  grew  thinly  over  the  country  were  the 
weather-beaten  tar-paper  houses  of  the  Michigan  pine 
barrens. 

One  other  passenger  had  arrived  with  John,  he  noticed, 
when  halfway  across  the  street.  This  was  a  big  man  with 
a  broad-brinamed  hat,  an  unbuttoned  coat,  showing  a 
heavy  watch  chain  and  charm.  His  eyes  were  blue  and 
sunny,  his  skin  rough  and  red,  mouth  large.  He  emanated 
good  nature  and  when  he  said  by  way  of  greeting,  "We 
should  grab  the  worm  this  morning,  neighbor,"  John 
grinned  and  remarked  that  they  were  early  enough. 

No  one  was  astir  on  the  street,  though  every  chimney 
belched  breakfast  smoke.  Within  the  office  of  the  Com- 
mercial House  a  gaunt  man,  smoking  a  pale  cigar,  was 
putting  wood  in  the  base  burner  as  John  and  his 
companion  entered. 

''Hello,  Jim,"  he  said  to  the  big  man,  coughing  from 
his  cigar  smoke. 

"Morning,  Henry.    Every  little  thing  settin'  pretty?" 

"Sure  is." 

Henry  rattled  the  stove  dampers,  while  Jim  dropped 
his  bag  and  walked  behind  the  desk.  John  noticed  that 
this  fixture  was  a  portion  of  an  old  bar  and  that  the  floor 
before  it  was  pitted  with  innumerable  fine  holes,  the  marks 
left  by  boots  of  rivermen,  gone  now,  like  the  timber  and 
the  saloons.  Jim  took  a  packet  of  letters  from  a  shelf 
behind  the  desk  and  rummaged  through  them,  sorting 
those  that  were  for  him.  Then  he  retired  to  a  chair  by  the 
stove  and  began  opening  envelopes.  The  proprietor  — 
the  man  with  the  cigar  —  went  behind  the  desk,  slapping 
his  hands  together  to  cleanse  them. 


24  TIMBER 

''Do  you  wish  accommodations?"  he  asked  in  a  low 
voice,  evidently  desiring  to  leave  Jim  undisturbed  with 
his  mail. 

"Breakfast,  anyhow;  probably  that  will  be  all."  John 
signed  the  register.  The  other  looked  at  his  signature. 
"I'd  like  to  get  out  to  White's  camp  today.  Maybe  you 
can  tell  me  who'll  take  me." 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"Ain't  been  up  in  th'  hardwood  all  winter, "  he  confessed 
still  in  that  half  tone.  "When  he  gets  through  w^ith  his 
mail,"  —  a  nod  toward  Jim  —  "Mr.  Harris  can  tell  you. 
He  knows. " 

"What?  What's  that?"  Harris  looked  up  from  his 
letter. 

"This  man  wants  to  get  to  White's  camp,  Jim. " 

Harris  removed  his  gold-rimmed  eye-glasses  and  looked 
more  closely  at  John.  Behind  the  genial  quality  in  that 
gaze  was  appraisal,  a  cunning,  that  Taylor  had  not  sensed 
earlier. 

''Up  in  Lincoln  township,"  he  said,  ''away  at  th'  other 
end  of  the  county.  The  livery  can  take  you  up."  He 
replaced  his  glasses  and  shook  the  fold  from  the  letter  he 
read.   Then:  "White's  gone." 

"Gone?"  startled. 

"Yup.  Camp's  abandoned.  Want  to  see  him?  " 

John  heard  his  own  voice  say:  "No,  I'm  only  interested 
in  what  he's  been  doing." 

His  heart  sank.  If  White  was  gone,  where  were  his  logs, 
and  how  was  he  to  get  them  out?  Or  had  there  ever  been 
logs?  He  wanted  to  blurt  out  questions,  but  he  could  not; 
this  was  his  business,  his  first  business;  and  he  had  been 
so  sm-e  that  it  would  all  be  simple.  To  ask  questions  would 


TIMBER  25 

admit  doubt;  he  would  not  do  that  to  himself,  let  alone 
to  strangers. 

Harris  went  on  with  his  mail.  Henry  puttered  quietly.  A 
door  opened  in  a  few  minutes  and  a  blowsy  blonde  appeared. 
"Breakfast's  ready, "  said  Henry,  and  Taylor  and  Harris 
went  into  the  dining  room. 

They  were  the  only  guests  and  sat  at  the  same  table, 

and  Harris,  after  glancing  at  the  head-lines  of  a  Detroit 

paper,  put  it  aside.   He  winked  at  the  girl  when  she  put 

butter  at  his  plate,  and  she  smiled  with  lumbering  coyness. 

"You  got  back  for  'lection,  I  see,*'  she  observed. 

"Yup." 

"Seems  like  we  can't  do  nothin'  important  without  you, 
any  more,  Mr.  Harris. " 

"Hope  you'll  never  do  anything  rash  without  me!"  he 
drawled  in  his  big  voice,  and  the  girl  giggled  with  a  mix- 
ture of  confusion  and  delight. 

Breakfast  came  on.  John  had  selected  the  best  from 
the  girl's  chant,  but  Harris  had  half  a  grapefruit  and, 
later,  a  palatable-looking  steak;  neither  of  these  had  been 
offered  Taylor. 

The  two  talked  in  desultory  manner.    Rain  pattered 
the  window  and  passed,  and  the  day  brightened. 
The  proprietor  came  into  the  room. 
"The  auto  livery  is  open,  Mr.  Taylor, "  he  said.    "Shall 
I  tell  'em  you  want  to  make  a  drive?" 
"Thanks,  yes." 

In  a  moment  he  looked  up  to  find  Harris'  eyes  on  him 
with  a  knowing  smile. 

"So,  you're  young  Taylor,"  he  said  and  grinned. 
"Taylor  is  my  name  and  I  am  young."    John  smiled; 
this  man  made  one  feel  comfortable. 


2a  TIMBER 

"You're  Luke  Taylor's  boy?" 

"lam." 

"Well,  well  —  Who'd  thought  it!" 

"And  how  did  you  know  it?" 

"Why  you're  a  Taylor  an'  you're  headed  for  White's 
camps  to  look  after  those  logs,  I  suppose.  Everybody  here 
knows  the  trick  that  was  turned  on  your  daddy.  Say, 
Taylor,  that  was  a  shame!"  shaking  his  head.  "I  expect 
your  daddy  '11  put  the  screws  on  White. " 

John  said  nothing;  nothing  of  which  he  was  conscious. 
He  mumbled  a  few  words  and  went  back  to  his  breakfast, 
not  for  nourishment,  but  for  refuge  from  his  own  con- 
fusion. A  trick,  the  man  had  said!  Harris  talked  on,  a 
genial  ambler  in  conversation,  drifting  from  logs  and 
lumber  to  an  odd  assortment  of  topics,  and  when  they 
left  the  dining  room,  they  smoked  together  in  the  office. 

It  was  noon  before  Taylor  got  under  way.  Harris  took 
him  to  the  garage  where  a  narrow-faced  boy  wielded  a 
wrench  over  the  motor  of  a  decrepit  Ford.  On  the  street 
men  greeted  Harris  as  good  inferiors  address  a  genial 
master. 

"Yes,"  the  boy  said,  he  would  make  the  trip  when  he 
had  his  motor  working. 

"If  anybody  can  make  her  turn  over,  Lucius  is  the 
boy, "  said  Jim. 

"You  Godam  know  it,"  tittered  Lucius. 
Harris  went  his  way.    "Got  to  vote,"  he  explained. 
"If  you  get  over  here  again  be  sure  and  look  me  up, 
Taylor." 

"Who's  Harris?" 

It  was  the  first  question  John  put  to  his  driver  as  they 


TIMBER  27 

rattled  out  of  Pancake  and  took  the  ruts  of  the  sand  road 
that  led  straight  north. 

''Jim?  Oh,  he's  lawyer  for  Chief  Pontiac  Power.  You 
know  about  th'  dam?  No?  Hell,  they've  got  th'  biggest 
dam  in  th'  world  right  here  in  this  county. " 

''No!" 

"Well,  th'  biggest  in  Michigan  —  or  this  part  of  it 
anyhow,"  the  youth  qualified.  "Chief  Pontiac  Power  an' 
Light  put  it  in  ten  years  ago.  They  shoot  juice  clear  down 
to  them  big  towns  like  Saginaw  and  Flint.  Jim,  he  runs 
things.  Fine  feller,  Jim,  an'  he  sure  makes  the  dough. " 

Lucius  had  further  praises  for  Harris,  but  John  paid 
little  attention.  It  was  evident  that  unless  he  wanted 
continual  loquaciousness  in  his  ear  it  would  be  well  to  be 
chary  with  questions. 

Beyond  Pancake  was  nothing;  literally  nothing,  no 
farms,  no  houses,  no  fences.  The  road  was  simply  two 
deep  ruts  in  the  thin  June  grass  sod  and  red  brown  moss, 
and  wound  on  interminably  across  the  monotonous 
Michigan  pine  barrens,  or,  as  the  natives  call  them,  the 
plains.  Here  and  there  stood  patches  of  jack  pine,  at 
times  many  acres  in  extent.  Again  it  was  oak,  with  some 
sizeable  trees  and  much  brush;  in  other  places  native 
poplar  and  balm  of  Gilead;  birch  and  soft  maple  rose  on 
ridges;  in  the  distance  was  the  blue-green  of  swamps.  All 
about  stood  stumps,  big  stumps,  close  together,  rotted  by 
time  and  blackened  by  fire,  ugly  and  desolate,  but  marking 
the  places  where  within  the  generation  mighty  pine  had 
reared  their  ragged  plumes  in  dignified  congregation.  The 
same  black  that  was  on  the  stumps  was  on  living  trees, 
too;  whole  halves  had  been  eaten  from  the  butts  of  oak  by 
creeping  flames;  smaller  oaks,  fire-killed,  stood  black  and 


I 


28  TIMBER 

dead,  while  a  clump  of  fresh  brush  rose  from  the  living 
roots.  Poplar  and  birch  grew  up  through  a  tangle  of 
punky,  brittle  trunks  that  had  been  trees  not  so  long  ago, 
that  had  given  up  life  before  fire  and  had  finally  fallen 
among  their  growing  progeny. 

From  ridges,  Taylor  could  see  miles  of  this.  They 
dropped  down  into  sweeping  valleys  of  the  same  thing. 
Now  and  then  would  be  a  patch  of  country  with  nothing 
but  grass  among  the  stumps,  and  that,  in  this  early  month, 
was  dead  and  gray.  There  were  no  stones  in  the  road, 
little  gravel  in  sight,  and  here  and  there,  where  the  sod 
was  broken,  yellow  sand  showed,  streaked  with  black 
where  the  charcoal  of  countless  ground  fires  had  settled 
into  the  light  soil.  In  places  were  lonely  Norway  pines, 
watchers  over  this  devastation,  and  occasionally  the  black- 
ened corpses  of  mighty  trees  still  reared  themselves  high, 
without  limb  or  branch,  straight,  slim  and  tall,  like  great 
exclamation  points  set  there  to  emphasize  the  ruin  that 
was  where  a  forest  had  been. 

"You  from  Detroit?"  Lucius  asked.  John  assented. 
"That's  where  I  am  goin'  b'  God.  Nothin'  here  for  a 
young  feller;  I'm  practicin'  up  at  th'  garage  so  I  can  get  a 
good  job  in  Detroit.  It  gets  darned  awful  lonesome,  but 
I  ain't  got  much  longer  to  stay  here." 

"I  don't  suppose  Pancake  is  very  lively." 

"Naw!  Nobody  but  old  folks  an'  little  kids  there. 
Why,  I'm  th'  only  young  feller  in  town.  All  th'  rest  beat 
it;  every  mother's  son-of-a-gun.  You  see,"  growing  pro- 
found, "there  ain't  nothin'  here  to  hold  us.  Up  yonder's 
some  hardwood  lands,  an'  that's  th'  only  soil  worth  a 
damn  in  th'  county,  an'  who  wants  to  farm  when  you 
can  work  in  a  factory?  I  like  the  woods  myself,  but  there 


TIMBER  29 

ain't  any  camps  any  more/cause  theyVe  cut  all  th'stuff  off. 

"You  bet  your  life  I'm  goin*  to  Detroit.  I'd'a'  went  last 
summer  but  a  darn  fool  warden  pinched  me  an'  I  had  to 
hang  around.  Jim  Harris  got  me  off,  but  it  took  a  long 
time. " 

"  Why  did  he  arrest  you?  " 

"Oh,  I  dropped  a  cigarette  out  here  in  summer  an' 
started  a  fire  that  run  over  a  little  no-account  brush  — 
thousand  acres  he  said  —  an'  he  held  me  under  the  fire 
law.  Damn  fresh  guy,  he  was,  who  don't  know  no  more 
about  these  here  plains  than  I  do  about  diamon's.  Started 
in  arrestin'  everybody  that  set  a  fire,  an'  got  everybodv 
sore  on  him. " 

"No  use  stopping  fires,  is  that  it?" 

"Hell,  no!  He  claimed  if  you  kep'  'em  out,  trees  would 
grow,  but  we  all  know  damn  well  fire '11  get  in  sooner  or 
later,  an'  that  th'  soil's  so  poor  it  won't  grow  nothin' 
nohow.  There's  some  that  says  it'll  grow  timber  again, 
but  they're  just  plain  ignorant."   He  laughed. 

"Why,  there  was  a  guy  named  Foraker  who  used  to 
talk  a  lot  about  raisin'  timber  like  a  crop.  Everybody 
knows  he  was  wrong.  He  bought  a  big  piece  up  ahead 
here,  ten  —  twelve  thousand  acres,  an'  spent  all  he  could 
get  his  hands  on  tryin'  to  grow  pine,  but  it  won't  work. 
Everybody  knows  that.  We  called  him  Foolish  Foraker 
an'  called  his  land  Foraker's  Folly.  He  sunk  a  lot  of 
money  puttin'  fires  out  an'  growin'  pine  trees  to  plant." 

"And  they  wouldn't  grow?" 

"They  won't  grow  fast  enough!  It'd  take  a  thousand 
years  to  grow  trees  like  them  stumps.  Oh,  they've  got 
some  scraggly  little  pine  up  here.  Foraker's  dead,  but 
his  daughter,  she  lives  there.   She's  had  some  swamp  land 


30  TIMBER 

that  kept  her  goin^  but  she's  in  debt  an'  would  have  been 
starved  out  by  now,  if  it  wasn't  for  the  perfessors  that 
come  in  here. " 

'Professors?" 

*'Yup."  Lucius  nodded  and  laughed.  "They  come  up 
from  th'  college  at  Ann  Arbor.  Damn  fools,  all  of  'em! 
Got  a  good  eye  for  women,  though!"  He  laughed  and 
turned  an  obscene  leer  on  his  passenger.  ''  Oh,  she's  got 
along;  got  to  hand  it  to  her — She's  stuck  on  herself 
an'  won't  mix  with  common  folks.  Good  reason,  too.  She 
don't  want  anybody  to  know  what  kind  she  is.  Ha! 
Feller  up  here  named  Sim  Burns  —  he's  runnin'  for  super- 
visor in  'lection  today  —  got  stuck  on  her  an'  she  wouldn't 
have  him;  so  he  tries  to  strong-arm  her  an'  she  run  him 
off  th'  place  with  a  wolf  she's  got.  That  kinda  discouraged 
th'  rest  of  th'  boys,  but  we  all  know  how  she  — " 

He  went  on  with  his  dirty  gossip.  They  swung  to  the 
right,  into  a  wide  valley  and  came  upon  the  first  indication 
of  life  and  progress  in  a  half-dozen  miles.  Wire  fences 
paralleled  the  road,  winter  wheat  made  a  vivid  splash  in 
the  drabness,  windmills  rose  from  the  flat  lands,  the 
country  was  dotted  with  buildings  and  in  the  foreground 
rose  a  huge  red  barn,  on  its  hipped  roof,  in  great  white 
letters,  the  legend: 

"Headquarters;  Harris  Development  Company." 

"Here  are  farms,"  said  Taylor,  thinking  of  what  the 
boy  had  said  about  the  land.  Lucius  nodded  and  smiled 
knowingly.   "Is  this  the  same  Harris?" 

"Yup,  an'  this's  his  graft." 

"Graft?" 

"Sure.  He  got  this  land  for  nothin'  an*  is  sellin'  it  for 
somethin'. " 


TIMBER  31 

They  passed  a  tar-paper  house,  with  sagging  window 
frames  and  gaping  doors;  behind  it  stretched  small  fields 
which  had  been  cleared  of  stumps,  but  which  were  now 
grown  up  to  the  sparse  June  grass.  Fences  were  broken 
and  some  of  the  posts  had  been  burned  as  they  stood.  A 
man  was  plowing  half  a  mile  away;  in  another  direction  a 
pile  of  freshly  pulled  stumps  smouldered. 

"Jim's  a  money  maker,"  Lucius  volunteered.  "You 
see,  when  Chief  Pontiac  got  their  damn  sites  they  had  to 
take  a  lot  of  this  here  plains  from  th'  lumber  company, 
so  Jim  takes  it  from  th'  comp'ny  an'  sells  it  out  to  suckers. " 

"I  see." 

"  Yup.  He's  a  sellin'  fool,  too!  They  come  in  an'  starve 
out  an'  quit,  an'  it  ain't  long  before  he's  sold  th'  place 
again. " 

"But  over  there"  —  pointing  to  the  wheat,  beside  which 
grew  young  fruit  trees  and  behind  which  spotted  cattle 
grazed  —  "that  looks  good." 

Again  Lucius  laughed  in  his  superior  manner  and 
winked,  as  though  he  conferred  a  great  favor  by  his 
familiarity. 

"Sure,  that's  headquarters.  That's  what  th'  suckers 
see  what  can  grow  on  light  land.  What  they  don't  see  is 
th'  train  loads  of  high-priced  fertilizer  Jim  brings  up,  an' 
what  they  don't  know  is  that  he  has  a  devil  of  a  time  to 
make  a  shomn'  in  two  or  three  fields  even  at  that.  If  they 
ever  get  roads  and  schools  in  here,  his  sucker  business  '11 
be  better.  An' you  watch  Jim!  He'll  get 'em!"  He  giggled. 

The  car  rattled  on.  They  passed  a  house  close  to  the 
road  where  a  man  worked  at  a  broken  windmill. 

"Sometimes,  a  fella  fells  sorry  for  th'  suckers  at  that," 
admitted  Lucius.     He  waved  his  hand  and  the  man 


32  TIMBER 

responded  listlessly.  ''Take  Thad  Parker,  there;  he's 
had  hard  luck.  He  come  from  the  city  to  get  rich  on  a 
farm.  Jim  soaked  him  right,  he  did,  but  Thad  thought  he 
knowed  it  all.  Now  he's  most  starved  out  an'  his  wife's 
sick.  Still,  you  can't  blame  Jim.  Money's  all  that 
counts. " 

Yes,  thought  Taylor,  money  is  all  that  counts.  He 
stirred  uncomfortably  on  the  uncomfortable  seat,  however. 

They  left  the  settlement  and  wound  on  through  the 
scrub  oak  and  pine. 

"What  in  hell!" 

The  motor  stopped  with  a  jolt  and  a  sputter.  Lucius 
crawled  out  and  lifted  the  battered  hood  and  scratched 
his  head  and  sighed. 

"Well,  we  got  to  do  it  over  again,"  he  said. 

Taylor  got  out  too,  annoyed  by  the  delay.  Lucius 
brought  out  tools;  then  quite  cautiously,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  he  produced  a  bottle  filled  with  a  brown  liquid. 

"Have  a  Httle  shot  in  th'  arm?" 

Taylor  took  the  bottle  and  smelled  it  suspiciously. 

"What  is  it?" 

"Little  of  my  private  stock.   Good  stuff.   Go  to  it." 

John  declined,  but  Lucius  drank  deeply  and  smacked 
his  lips.  There  was  little  John  could  do  to  help.  His  driver 
alleged  that  he  knew  the  difficulty  and  could  remedy  it 
at  once  and  began  to  dismantle  the  motor  while  John 
strolled  about,  climbed  a  near  ridge  and  stood  looking 
across  that  stretch  of  desolation.  It  was  very  quiet  and 
lonely.  A  red-tailed  hawk  hunted  in  high,  wide  circles, 
coming  from  afar  and  going  out  of  sight  with  no  evidence 
that  his  vigilance  had  been  rewarded.  There  were  no 
birds,  no  small  animals;  wind  made  the  only  movement. 


TIMBER  33 

In  his  leather  coat,  high-laced  officer's  boots,  smoking  a 
cigarette  in  an  amber  holder,  John  Taylor  looked  much 
out  of  place  as  he  stood  on  that  ridge.  He  felt  out  of 
place,  too.  The  dirty  little  town,  the  dreary  people,  the 
coarseness  beneath  Harris'  geniality,  the  unavoidable 
gabble  of  the  amiable  Lucius,  the  mystery  gathering 
about  his  errand,  all  combined  to  depress  and  make  him 
apprehensive  — 

"All  grubbers!"  he  muttered.  "Grubbers  —  with  no 
chance  —  except  Harris;  and  he  has  to  live  with  them!" 

He  threw  away  his  cigarette  with  a  grimace  and  walked 
back  to  the  car. 

Lucius  was  not  drunk;  not  yet.  He  claimed  to  have 
located  the  trouble  and  Taylor  watched  him  work  so 
closely  that  he  did  not  see  the  old  man  coming  out  of  a 
side  road  until  he  was  at  his  elbow. 

"Hello  there,  Charley  Stump!"  cried  Lucius. 

John  looked  up.  A  ragged  ancient,  with  gray  hair  and 
watery  eyes  stood  by  him.  He  was  resting  on  a  bicycle, 
or  at  least  a  part  of  a  bicycle.  The  handle  bars  were  bent 
and  twisted;  the  frame  was  rust  flaked.  In  place  of  a 
saddle  a  wadded  gunny  sack  was  bound  to  the  seat  post. 
There  were  no  tires  on  the  splintered  rims,  but  quarter- 
inch  rope  had  been  wound  around  and  around  them. 

"Hello,  Lucius,"  quavered  the  old  man.  "Broke  down, 
eh?  That's  where  a  safety  comes  in  handy, "  stroking  the 
handle  bars.   "So  long  as  you  go  a  safety  goes." 

"That  bike  won't  go  a  hell  of  a  ways." 

"True,  true,  Lucius;  when  I  get  my  tires  though,  you 
watch  me  scorch!" 

"You've  been  talkin'  about  tires  ever  since  the  winter 
of  the  blue  snow." 


34  TIMBER 

"True,  true,  but  wait  till  I  sell  some  of  my  land  or  until 
I  sue  some  of  these  here  trespassers.  Then  I'll  have  tires 
for  her. " 

Lucius  said  no  more,  being  occupied  with  a  refractory- 
cotter  pin. 

John  looked  again  at  the  crazy  figure,  his  torn  mackinaw, 
patched  overalls  and  rubbers  that  were  bound  to  his  sock- 
less  feet  by  twine.  About  the  face  was  a  look  that  was 
nothing  less  than  guilt.  It  was  as  though  Taylor's  casual 
inspection  had  charged  the  old  man  with  some  misdeed. 

"You  lookin'  for  land,  mister?" 

"No,  no  land." 

"I  got  some  good  land,  if  you  are.  Fine  land;  I'll  sell 
reasonable,  too." 

"Paul  Bunion  himself  couldn't  stir  up  a  dust  on  your 
land,  Charley,"  said  Lucius. 

"Is  that  so?  That's  all  you  know.  You'll  get  too  flip 
sometime  an'  somebody'U  give  it  to  you  in  th'  neck." 
With  that  retort  Charley  started  on,  pushing  his  safety, 
moving  slowly. 

"Batty  in  the  knob,"  said  the  boy.  "Pushes  that  bike 
all  over  the  plains,  an'  has  for  years.  He's  an  old  bully- 
boy  an'  went  cookoo  when  th'  pine  give  out.  That's  what 
a  young  feller  has  to  associate  with  here;  that's  one  reason 
I'm  goin'  to  Detroit.  Le's  have  a  drink. " 

John  tried  to  protest,  but  Lucius  showed  temper  and 
the  attempt  to  dissuade  him  was  not  pressed.  He  drank 
and  went  on  with  his  work. 

Afternoon  and  the  bottle  were  both  nearly  gone  when 
the  last  bolt  went  into  place  and  the  motor  responded  to  a 
turn  of  the  crank.  Taylor  took  the  wheel  in  spite  of  the 
boy's  remonstrance  and  they  went  on. 


TIMBER  35 

"All  righ'  fer  you,"  whined  Lucius.  "I  know  who  you 
are;  I'm  glad  White  put  one  over  —  Lemme  drive  an'  I 
won't  be  glad  —  's  tis,  I  am!" 

So  this  backwoods  moron,  even,  knew  something  about 
his  affairs  that  John  Taylor  did  not  know  and  for  a 
moment  his  apprehension  mingled  with  the  chagrin  of  one 
left  outside  an  open  secret. 

The  car  functioned  as  well  as  one  of  its  age  and  con- 
dition of  servitude  could  possibly  do.  They  climbed  the 
ridge  and  slid  down  the  far  side.  Lucius  drank  again  and 
leaned  heavily  against  the  other  and  insisted  that  their 
destination  was  not  far. 

A  train  paralleled  their  course  and  soon  they  came  in 
sight  of  buildings;  a  scattering  of  tar-paper  houses,  with 
a  small  water-power  mill  on  a  damned  creek.  A  saw 
whined  within  and  two  Indians  were  loading  pulp  wood 
into  a  gondola  on  the  siding.  There  were  piles  of  thin 
lumber  and  banks  of  small  logs. 

"That's  her  mill,"  said  the  boy. 

"Whose?" 

"Helen  Forsakersh  —  Her  mill. " 

"Which  way  now?    The  road  forks." 

"Keeplef  — lef— ." 

They  tm-ned,  crossed  the  head  of  the  mill  pond  and 
plunged  into  the  gloom  of  thick  timber.  At  first  Taylor 
paid  little  attention,  for  there  was  the  usual  mixture  of 
oak,  poplar  and  small  pines.  The  road  was  straight  and 
even  and  had  been  plowed.  The  oak  disappeared,  the 
trees  became  larger;  he  craned  his  neck  to  look  up  and 
grunted  in  surprise.  He  was  in  a  dense  pine  forest,  silent 
and  fresh  and  bearing  no  evidence  of  fire.  He  slowed  the 
car  and  looked  out  curiously.    They  were  small  trees, 


36  TIMBER 

averaging  somewhere  near  a  foot  in  diameter,  he  thought, 
but  they  were  thick  and  uniform.  The  trunks  were  not 
smooth;  many  dead  branches  protruded  there,  as  nature 
pursued  her  slow  method  of  pruning.  There  was  Uttle 
brush  on  the  ground. 

''Is  this  Foraker's  Folly?''  he  asked. 

Lucius  roused  with  a  start.  ''Yup  —  Damn  fool. 
—  She's  a  lulu  though!" 

They  crossed  what  appeared  to  be  another  road,  also 
straight  and  plowed,  but  in  it  were  no  worn  ruts.  Soon 
they  crossed  another  and  another,  placed  at  regular 
intervals.  And  then  they  ran  out  of  the  gloom,  into  sight 
of  the  Blueberry  River  which  swooped  at  them,  impris- 
oned between  high  banks,  and  a  house,  first  story  of  logs 
and  the  second  thatched  with  shingles,  wide-windowed, 
generous  of  chimney,  which  stood  on  a  knoll  against  the 
deep  green  of  white  pine.  There  were  other  buildings 
about,  several  of  them,  but  the  road  led  straight  to  the 
door  of  the  big  house. 

"Here;  we're  in  wrong,"  growled  Taylor  and  set  the 
brake,  stopping  at  the  corner  of  the  building,  not  far  from 
a  dog  kennel,  from  the  depths  of  which  two  orange  lights 
glowed  at  him.  He  shook  the  boy  roughly  and  roused 
him. 

''Where  are  we?" 

The  other  yawned. 

*'  I'll  be  son-gun  —  Brought  you  right  to  her  housh!" 

"Get  out  then,  and  let  me  out  —  I'll  have  to  find  the 
way  for  myself. " 

Lucius  grumbled  as  John  took  him  by  the  shoulder  and 
shoved  him  to  the  ground. 

"Leggo  me!" 


TIMBER  37 

**'Tf  I  do  you  can't  stand  up.  You're  drunk  and  a  fool. " 

''Wlio  saysh  I'm  drun'?    Drun',  am  I?" 

With  a  lunging  jerk  of  his  body  he  tore  free  and  stag- 
gered backward,  swearing,  and  then  from  the  kennel 
where  two  glowing  spots  had  been,  came  a  gray  streak,  a 
ragged  growl,  a  flash  of  bared  teeth,  white  as  frost. 

Taylor  leaped  forward  to  grasp  the  boy,  but  again  he 
twisted  out  of  his  reach.  The  dog  left  the  ground  in  a 
long  leap.  -John  saw  the  red  of  its  open  mouth,  caught  the 
wicked  glitter  of  the  eye,  and  his  foot  shot  out,  hard  and 
true,  toe  landing  on  the  jaw,  turning  the  creature  up  and 
over,  flinging  it  hard  upon  the  ground  on  its  back. 

"Get  out  of  the  way!"  he  said,  and  this  time  fastened 
his  fingers  in  Lucius'  sweater,  jerking  him  toward  the  car, 
and  stepped  back  himself  as  the  dog  came  through  the 
air,  straight  at  his  own  throat,  and  reached  the  end  of  the 
chain,  and  went  back  and  down  with  a  choking  roar  of 
dismay, 

Taylor  turned  to  confront  Lucius  who  had  settled  down 
on  the  running  board,  hot  words  on  his  lips  and  anger  in 
his  face.  But  he  did  not  let  the  oath  slip  out,  for  a  girl 
stood  before  him,  a  bare-headed  girl  in  a  red  mackinaw, 
red  in  her  cheeks,  a  flash  in  her  eyes, 

"That  was  uncalled  for,"  she  said  evenly. 

There  was  no  anger  in  her  voice;  that  was  steady  and 
cool  and  of  splendid  quality,  but  there  was  anger  in  her 
eyes.  Another  thing  was  there:  an  impersonal  superiority. 
She  gave  Taylor  the  impression  of  an  individual  of  conse- 
quence being  annoyed  by  something  trivial. 

"I'm  sorry  I  had  to  kick  your  dog,"  John  said,  "but 
the  Providence  that  looks  after  fools  and  drunkards 
seemed  to  have  turned  its  back.  He  got  in  your  dog's  way." 


38  TIMBER 

She  followed  his  gesture  to  the  drooping  Lucius  and  saw 
the  silly  leer  in  his  eye. 

"I  didn't  understand.  I  only  saw  you  step  in  to  kick 
her.    I'm  sorry  I  was  so  abrupt." 

But  she  was  not  sorry,  Taylor  felt.  She  did  not  care 
whether  she  had  done  him  an  injustice  or  not;  she  walked 
past  him,  speaking  gently  to  the  dog,  calling  her  Pauguk. 
The  animal,  which  had  been  running  back  and  forth, 
muttering  against  her  helplessness  to  be  at  the  man  who 
had  struck  her,  sank  belly  to  the  earth  when  the  girl 
approached,  licking  her  chops  swiftly,  now  and  then  dart- 
ing a  venomous  glance  at  Taylor.  The  girl's  hand  was 
extended,  the  red  tongue  caressed  it  furtively  and  Pauguk 
slunk  closer  to  her.  John  saw  that  this  was  no  ordinary 
dog.  Bigger,  stronger,  with  something  that  dogs  do  not 
have,  some  curious  thing  which  — 

*'Wolf!"  he  muttered. 

''I'm  sorry  I  come  to  your  house  and  start  a  disturb- 
ance at  once, "  he  said  icily,  as  the  girl  turned  back.  He 
scrutinized  her  closely  and  his  gaze  lingered  on  the  thick 
hank  of  brown  hair  at  her  neck.  Her  eyes  were  brown,  too, 
and  wide  and  intelligent.  "I  got  in  here  by  mistake 
because  my  driver  seems  to  have  done  pretty  well  at 
breaking  the  prohibition  law. " 

She  looked  at  Lucius  again,  but  made  no  response;  his 
explanation  had  not  interested  her. 

"I  was  headed  for  White's  camp,"  he  went  on,  resent- 
ing this  indifference.    "He  gave  me  the  wrong  turn." 

When  he  spoke  of  his  destination,  her  eyes  came  to  his 
face  and  he  fancied  that  a  gleam  of  curiosity  showed  in 
them. 

"You  can't  get  there  tonight,"  she  said,  holding  out  her 


TIMBER  39 

hand  to  feel  the  first  drops  of  rain.  "The  camp  is 
abandoned,   anyhow. '* 

"I  suppose  I'd  better  go  back  to  Pancake,  then." 

She  eyed  the  car  dubiously. 

"Between  the  machine  and  its  driver,  I  don't  think 
that's  wise." 

"Where  can  I  go?  I  never  saw  such  a  God-for- 
saken —  " 

"We  can  take  care  of  you."  Then  turned  and  lifted 
her  voice:  "Joe?  Black  Joe?" 

A  squat  and  swarthy  man  appeared  from  behind  the 
house.  He  looked  at  Taylor,  at  Lucius,  and  then  at  the 
girl  with  a  surly  grunt  of  query. 

"Get  him  out  of  sight  before  the  children  see  him," 
she  said.    "There's  an  empty  bunk  in  the  shanty?" 

"One." 

Black  Joe  spit  on  his  hands. 

"Let  me  help  you,"  said  Taylor. 

The  man,  stooped  over  Lucius,  looked  at  him  closely 
and  slowly,  from  head  to  foot;  he  said  nothing,  but  in 
the  glance  was  contempt  and  hostility.  He  grasped  the 
boy  by  one  arm  and  ankle,  slung  him  over  his  shoulder 
and  walked  away. 

"You'll  have  to  come  in  here,"  the  girl  said,  moving 
toward  the  steps.  "The  men's  shanty  is  crowded,  and 
anyhow  you'll  —  probably  be  better  off  here." 

She  added  that  last  after  a  look  which  covered  him 
as  thoroughly  as  had  the  contemptuous  stare  of  Black 
Joe,  and  her  manner  was  as  though  she  took  upon  herself 
dutifully  the  protection  of  an  unwelcome  child.  It  was  a 
challenge  to  his  assurance  with  women  and  stung  his  pride. 

"Thanks,  but  you  needn't  bother,"  he  said  sharply. 


40  TIMBER 

"No  bother.  It  is  the  only  place,"  as  she  ascended  the 
steps  and  opened  the  door,  turning  to  wait  for  him. 

He  was  impelled  to  refuse  curtly  this  strange  hospitality 
and  sought  for  some  retort  that  would  sting  her  as  she 
had  stung  him.  None  came,  but,  as  he  stood  looking  up 
at  the  girl  while  her  eyes  followed  Black  Joe  and  his  inert 
burden  into  the  near-by  building,  he  smiled  rather  grimly. 
He  knew  women.  She  chose  to  ignore  him;  he  would  let 
her  go  to  the  end  of  her  rope  and  bring  her  up  as  shortly 
as  the  wolf  dog  had  brought  up  against  her  chain.  He 
followed  her  into  the  house. 

A  lean,  tall  woman  was  sweeping  the  carpeted  floor, 
a  cloth  tied  over  her  head. 

"Aunty  May,"  said  the  girl,  "this  man  is  going  to 
stay  with  us  tonight.  Will  you  show  him  the  room?  " 

The  woman  also  eyed  Taylor  sourly.  The  girl  had 
drawn  off  her  jacket  and  was  approaching  an  old-fashioned 
walnut  desk  beneath  a  window. 

"My  name, "  he  said  coolly,  "is  Taylor.  I  think  I  know 
who  you  are." 

She  turned  and  he  saw  interest  at  last  in  her  face.  He 
felt  no  regret  that  to  impress  her  he  had  been  forced  to 
bludgeon  through  her  indifference  with  his  father's 
identity. 

"You're  here,  then,  to  look  after  your  father's  logs?" 

"Yes,"  and  the  satisfaction  he  had  derived  by  shaking 
her  aloofness  was  engulfed  in  apprehension  again. 

"Well,"  said  the  older  woman  testily,  "do  you  want  to 
stand  here  and  gas  or  put  that  satchel  away?" 

After  the  girl's  manner  this  grumpiness  was  burlesque. 
Taylor  grinned  and  followed  her  across  the  room  to  the 
open  stairway. 


CHAPTER   IV 

Two  hours  later  Taylor  stood  alone  before  the  hearth 
and  looked  about  at  that  strange  room.  The  walls  were 
lined  with  shelves,  and  most  of  the  shelves  were  heavy 
with  books  and  pamphlets.  The  books  were  not  the  sort  he 
had  ever  seen.  There  was  little  fiction,  and  that  tucked 
in  high  places;  some  history,  some  other  usual  books, 
but  these  were  all  lost  in  row  after  row  of  technical  volumes 
on  chemistry,  soils,  and  whole  shelves  of  texts  on  silvicul- 
ture. There  were  many  works  in  French  and  German, 
all  on  forests  and  their  products.  The  pamphlets  came 
from  every  part  of  the  country,  from  the  Forest  Service 
at  Washington,  from  the  offices  of  State  Foresters,  Tax 
Commissions  and  Congressional  Committees.  There 
was  a  set  of  books  from  the  Bureau  of  Corporations,  a 
set  from  Pennsylvania,  one  from  Canada.  A  file  of  the 
Forestry  Quarterly  was  placed  next  a  row  of  copies  of  the 
Journal  of  Forestry,  and  below  that  was  a  set  of  technical 
forest  papers  from  British  India.  A  set  of  shelves  was 
stacked  with  lumber  trade  journals,  the  backs  of  many 
checked  with  blue  marks  evidently  indicating  important 
references. 

Then  there  were  circular  sections  of  tree  trunks  which 
had  been  polished  until  the  rings  stood  out  sharply. 
Except  for  size  they  all  looked  alike  to  him  and  he  did 
not  pause  for  long  before  them. 

The  wall  in  which  the  fireplace  was  set  was  without 
shelves  and  on  it  were  hung  curious  charts*?.    There  was 

41 


42  TIMBER 

one  map  of  Blueberry  County  with  an  area  set  off  in  a 
broken  blue  line.  That,  he  thought,  must  be  the  forest, 
Foraker's  Folly.  It  comprised  nearly  half  of  one  town- 
ship. There  were  charts  which  he  could  not  decipher; 
they  looked  like  statistical  reports  in  graphic  form,  but 
the  legends  were  in  symbols  and  they  yielded  him  no 
information. 

The  flat-topped  desk  was  in  poor  order,  but  the  accumu- 
lated papers  bore  no  dust,  evidence  that  they  were  much 
handled.  There  was  an  old  swivel  chair  at  the  desk  with 
the  leather  worn  from  its  cushions.  The  remainder  of  the 
furniture  was  largely  old-fashioned  and  of  long  service. 
He  looked  about  the  walls  again  scratching  his  chin  in 
perplexity,  and  his  eyes  struck  one  other  object  which 
he  had  missed,  a  photograph  in  an  oval  frame.  It  was 
the  face  of  a  young  man,  and  taken  years  ago.  A  flowing 
beard  covered  the  expanse  of  shirt  front,  a  mop  of  dark 
hair  was  brushed  back  from  the  brow.  That  brow  was 
wide  and  the  eyes,  though  the  reproduction  was  dulled 
by  age,  possessed  the  light  of  great  intelligence.  It  was  a 
good  face,  a  sensitive  face,  the  face  of  a  kindly  dreamer, 
and  in  it  was  something  of  the  dignity  which  had  been 
in  the  face  of  Helen  Foraker  as  she  talked  with  him 
outside  the  door. 

He  dropped  into  an  armchair  and  stretched  his  feet 
before  the  fire. 

Rain  slashed  across  the  windows  steadily  and  the 
rising  wind  moaned  in  the  trees,  dropping  now  to  a  dis- 
consolate murmur,  growing  again  to  a  sob,  and  this  cry 
of  weather  in  pine  tops  struck  a  responsive  chord  of 
uneasiness  in  Taylor.  Events  of  the  last  two  days  had 
created  a  growing  doubt  in  him;   the  uncongeniality  of 


TIMBER  43 

his  surroundings  was  depressing,  and  as  he  sat  there  the 
thought  of  Marcia  recurred  to  him  and  for  the  first  time 
his  sense  of  obUgation  to  her  became  conscious  responsi- 
bihty.  She  wanted  the  things  that  money  could  give;  she 
trusted  him  to  get  them  for  her,  and  he  was  suddenly 
aware  of  the  responsibility  that  devolves  upon  a  man 
when  he  promises  happiness  to  a  woman. 

He  had  been  confident  enough  that  this  errand  was  but 
a  brief  preliminary  step,  that  by  it  he  would  win  his 
father's  confidence,  and  that  the  remainder  would  be 
simple.  Now  he  was  not  so  certain.  Difficulties  might 
be  ahead,  and  if  he  failed  —  He  rose  and  paced  the 
bear-skin  rug.  Money  and  how  to  get  it!  The  goal  and 
the  problem  of  his  kind!  A  door  opened  and  Helen 
Foraker  appeared.   He  stopped  his  pacing. 

*'We  will  eat  now,  Mr.  Taylor." 

He  saw  a  table  laid,  with  Aunty  May  and  children 
standing  by  it.  He  saw,  too,  that  when  she  bade  him 
come  to  her  board  a  portion  of  the  indifference  which 
had  marked  her  was  absorbed  by  a  show  of  graciousness. 

He  entered  the  dining  room. 

''Mr.  Taylor,  this  is  Bobby  Kildare  and  his  sister 
Bessy." 

The  little  girl,  who  was  no  more  than  three,  advanced 
and  courtesied  gravely.  The  boy,  twice  her  age,  face 
shining  from  recent  soap,  grinned  self-consciously  as  he 
put  out  a  warm  hand.  Aunty  May  did  not  look  at  John, 
but  busied  herself  with  Bessy's  bib.  At  first,  there  was 
a  constrained  silence  about  the  table.  Aunty  May  poured 
tea  and  gestured  reproof  to  Bobby  whose  appetite  was 
stronger  than  his  sense  of  manners.  Helen  served  and 
commented  indifferently  on  the  storm. 


44  TIMBER 

"I  understand  you're  interested  in  conservation,  Miss 
Foraker, "  Taylor  said. 

Her  gaze  flashed  to  him  as  though  she  expected  to  find 
ridicule  in  his  face,  held  a  moment,  and,  not  finding  it, 
she  smiled  faintly. 

"Most  people  who  are  doing  what  is  usually  called 
conservation  work  don't  like  the  word.  It  suggests  holding 
out,  a  setting  apart.  Growing  new  forests  is  what  my 
father  called  national  life  insurance.  They  are  not  to  be 
held  out  of  use  forever,  but  to  be  used  when  ripe  and 
ready  for  market." 

She  spoke  quickly  with  assurance,  and  yet  with  abstrac- 
tion as  one  will  who  is  accustomed  to  repeating  a  maxim 
for  the  unschooled. 

"Your  father  was  rather  a  pioneer  in  reforestation, 
I  take  it." 

She  nodded.  "A  pioneer  in  this  country,  at  least. 
This  is  the  first  fairly  big  hand-grown  forest  we  have." 

"It  surprised  me.    I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  far  along." 

"Most  people  who  stop  in  Pancake  have  little  idea 
of  what  is  here." 

"I  understand  that.  I  heard  about  your  pine  on  the 
way  out." 

"With  embellishments,  I  presume?" 

"Plenty,"  he  laughed. 

Silence.  Helen  spoke  to  the  other  woman  and  to  the 
children,  but  displayed  no  inclination  to  talk  further  with 
Taylor,  which  nettled  him.  He  cast  about  for  another 
conversational  entry  and  finding  none  urged: 

"I'm  interested.  Where  did  your  father  get  his  idea? 
How  long  ago  did  he  make  his  beginning?" 

"Aunty  May,  give  Bessy  some  more  potato,  will  you?" 


TIMBER  45 

"The  idea  came  to  him  Hke  all  big  ideas  come  to  big 
men,  I  suppose, "  turning  to  John,  *,'out  of  an  appreciation 
of  coming  necessity.  He  had  made  some  money  in  pine. 
He  came  on  this  tract  a  year  or  so  after  the  last  of  the 
original  pine  was  cut.  It  was  naturally  protected  from 
the  fires  that  always  followed  logging,  by  the  river, 
swamps,  hardwood  and  a  chain  of  lakes,  and  no  fire  of 
consequence  had  been  in  here.  He  saw  the  seedlings 
coming  up  so  thickly,  knew  that  the  land  had  produced 
splendid  pine  once,  and  believed  it  would  again.  He 
bought  the  piece,  kept  fires  out,  went  abroad  to  see  how 
Central  Europe  had  grown  its  own  forests,  and  put  in 
the  rest  of  his  life  making  this  land  produce  its  second  crop. 

"That  was  in  the  middle  seventies  when  he  started. 
The  growth  is  nearly  fifty  years  old  now.  Foraker's  Folly 
had  become  an  old  story  and  a  stale  joke  to  the  locality, 
and  very  few  people  outside  are  interested  enough  to  find 
out  about  it." 

A  burst  of  wind  set  the  forest  moaning. 

"Your  father  had  a  great  deal  of  courage,"  Taylor 
began  and  the  girl  looked  up  with  something  like  apprecia- 
tion. That  died,  however,  when  he  added:  "But  that's 
a  long  time  to  wait  for  a  return  on  your  investment." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  and  in  the  response  was  marked  cool- 
ness. 

The  outer  door  opened  and  Helen  looked  over  her 
shoulder. 

"What  is  it,  Joe?" 

The  short  man  crossed  the  room  and  stood  in  the  door- 
way, wet  cap  in  his  hands. 

"Tell  her,"  he  said,  "that  Milt  couldn't  get  any  bacon 
from  Raymer." 


46  TIMBER 

The  girl  turned  to  Aunty  May  and  said  gravely: 

"Milt  couldn't  get  any  bacon  at  the  mill,  Aunty. " 

The  gaunt  woman  grunted  and  her  eyes  flashed. 

"Tell  him,"  she  said,  ''that  the  baby  trap  needs  a  new 
stake  an^  I  want  it  in  by  morning.  I  can't  chase  younguns 
all  day  long." 

"Joe,  the  baby  trap  needs  a  new  stake.  Will  you  get 
it  in  tomorrow?"    Helen  asked. 

"First  thing,"  promised  Joe. 

He  waited  a  moment,  then  turned  and  went  out. 

Taylor  looked  at  Helen  and  stole  a  swift  glance  at 
Aunty  May.  Nothing  in  their  faces  gave  the  key  to  this 
strange  procedure.  He  stirred  in  his  chair  and  smiled, 
and  then  attempted  to  start  talk.  He  could  not  break 
the  girl's  reserve,  however;  he  extended  himself  in  the 
effort;  she  was  coolly  courteous,  that  was  all.  He  could 
not  make  her  respond  and  with  his  repeated  failures  his 
impulse  to  rouse  her  interest  grew  strong.  He  had  the 
evening  before  him,  he  told  himself;  he  would  take  her 
measure  before  he  slept! 

But  there  was  no  opportunity  for  that.  When  they 
left  the  table,  Taylor  lighted  a  cigarette  and  stood  before 
the  fire  while  the  girl  went  to  the  telephone  and  for  twenty 
minutes  her  talk  was  a  jumble  of  queries,  orders,  comments 
which  meant  little  to  him:  an  inventory  of  lath  was 
mentioned,  the  billing  of  cars  of  pulp  wood,  reference  to 
a  new  band  saw,  memoranda  hastily  made,  talk  of  a 
sick  horse  and  regret  that  the  man,  Milt,  must  spend  the 
night  with  the  animal. 

She  hung  up  the  receiver  finally.  She  did  not  even  look 
at  Taylor  but  sat  at  the  desk  and  lighted  a  student  lamp 
which  stood  there. 


TIMBER  47 

"  I  hope  you  won't  think  we're  inhospitable, "  she  said, 
as  though  it  did  not  matter  greatly  what  he  thought, 
"but  this  is  a  busy  time  of  year." 

He  felt  himself  flushing.  This  was  dismissal  with  no 
opening  for  argument  —  and  after  he  had  planned 
to  make  this  girl  come  to  time.  He  found  himself  walking 
toward  the  stairway,  muttering  about  letters  he  wanted 
to  write,  feeling  driven  out  and  inferior  and  furious. 
He  watched  the  girl  as  he  ascended.  She  was  sorting 
papers  rapidly  and  did  not  even  glance  at  him,  John 
Taylor,  who  knew  all  about  women  and  who  had  dedicated 
this  evening  to  making  her  regret  that  she  had  patronized 
him  and  been  indifferent. 


CHAPTER   V 

An  hour  passed.  John  sat  at  the  table  in  his  room, 
paper  before  him,  pen  idle  in  his  hand.  The  room  was 
heated  by  a  grating  in  the  floor  which  gave  into  the  room 
below  where  the  girl  sat,  and  from  time  to  time  the  creak 
of  her  chair  or  the  rustle  of  papers  came  up  to  him.  Beyond 
those  sounds  and  the  talk  of  the  pines  outside,  there  was 
no  break  in  his  solitude.  Then  a  car  came,  stopping  in 
front  of  the  house,  and  a  rap  sounded  on  the  door. 

Helen  Foraker  rose  to  open  it.  A  tall  man  with  a  thin 
red  nose,  a  stoop,  a  celluloid  collar  and  small  greedy  eyes 
stood  on  the  step,  a  package  under  his  arm. 

''What  do  you  want,  Sim  Burns? '^  she  asked,  but  did 
not  move  to  bid  him  enter. 

"EveninV'  and  his  eyes  shifted  to  the  interior,  swinging 
back  to  her  face  when  he  saw  that  the  room  was  empty. 
"  I  want  to  talk  to  you. " 

She  did  not  reply  at  once,  but  her  eyes  which  were  in 
shadow  held  on  his;  she  saw  the  bronze  of  his  face  deepen, 
but  he  did  not  go  on  with  his  errand;  not  even  when  she 
said  impatiently:  "Yes?" 

'*  It's  nothin'  I  can  say  in  a  minute.  I'd  rather  come  in. " 

She  stepped  back  and  let  him  enter,  closing  the  door 
behind  her  and  watching  the  man  as  he  unbuttoned  his 
overcoat  and  shook  the  water  from  it. 

'*  You  don't  need  to  stand  by  the  door,  Miss  Foraker.  1 
ain't  goin'  to  hurt  you. " 

"I'm  sure  of  that.   Sit  down." 

4S 


TIMBER  49 

"Th'  last  time  I  was  here,  you  didn't  ask  me  to  sit 
down. " 

*'You  remember  very  well.'' 

''Yeah.  If  you  thought  I  was  goin'  to  forget,  you  was 
fooled.  Remember?  I'll  say  I  do!"  He  laughed  shortly 
and  licked  his  lips;  his  glittering  eyes  were  steady  on 
her  face  and  most  unpleasant.  "That's  why  I'm  here 
tonight,  because  I  remember  and  want  you  to  remember. 
—  I  told  you  that  day  I  wouldn't  forget,  that  you'd  see 
th'  time  when  you'd  wish  you'd  gone  a  little  slower. " 

A  flush  whipped  across  the  girl's  face  but  she  did  not 
speak;  only  settled  her  lips  in  a  tighter  line  and  watched 
him  expectantly. 

*'I  give  you  all  the  show  there  was,"  he  went  on 
bitterly;  *'I  come  here  like  an  honest  man  would;  I  offered 
you  a  good  home  an'  a  respected  name,  an'  when  you 
wouldn't  have  any  of  me  you  wasn't  satisfied  to  turn  me 
down,  but  had  to  set  your  damned  dog  on  me  an'  spread 
th'  story  to  th'  country." 

He  swallowed  vehemently. 

"You  may  recall,"  she  said  evenly,  "that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  turn  Pauguk  on  you  to  avoid  —  ugly  things." 

"Yeah.  That's  what  you  think.  I  wouldn't  touched 
you,  wouldn't  hurt  a  hair  of  your  head.  Didn't  I  come 
here  to  ask  you  to  marry  me?" 

"I  gathered  that.    You  were  drunk." 

He  fidgeted  a  moment  before  her  scorn,  then  burst  out: 
"That  ain't  what  I  come  for,  to  go  over  all  that  again. 
I  just  wanted  to  remind  you  that  I  said  then  you'd  Uve 
to  regret  it.   Well,  you  have." 

He  hitched  the  package  imder  his  arm  closer  against 
his  side  and  tapped  it. 


50  TIMBER 

"That's  th'  poll  books  of  Lincoln  township.  I'm  takin' 
'em  to  Pancake  tonight  so  they  can  canvass  th'  vote  in 
today's  election.  Know  what  they'll  find?  They'll  find 
that  Sim  Burns  is  supervisor. " 

"I  expected  so.  You  were  unopposed. " 

*' Unopposed!  An'  I'd  've  won  anyhow;  I'd  've  won 
if  it  was  th'  last  thing  I  ever  done,  because  ever  since 
that  time  when  th'  story  about  you  an'  your  dog  an'  me 
got  around  I've  lived  just  to  pay  you  back."  His  voice 
mounted  as  he  moved  closer  to  her,  head  on  one  side,  arm 
extended  in  an  accusing  point.  "By  bein'  supervisor, 
I'm  tax  officer  of  this  town;  by  bein'  tax  officer  I  hold 
you  an'  your  forest  in  my  power!  Like  that!  Now,  do 
you  understand?"  He  opened  his  long  bony  fingers  to 
their  limit  and  closed  them  slowly  as  though  they  strangled 
a  hated  life. 

One  of  Helen  Foraker's  hands,  which  had  hung  limp 
at  her  side,  moved  ever  so  slightly,  some  of  the  color 
went  from  her  face  and  in  place  of  her  scorn  appeared  a 
flicker  of  misgiving. 

Burns  remained  tense  a  moment,  then  relaxed  suddenly 
and  laughed  again. 

"  I  guess  you  get  me, "  nodding  slowly.  "  You  seen  fit  to 
run  me  off  your  place.  Now  I'll  see  fit  to  tax  you  out  of 
th'  county! 

"There's  only  one  reason  your  old  man  an'  you  got  by 
this  far.  Your  father  was  laughin'  stock  for  th'  old  county 
officers.  They'd  told  him  so  often  that  he  was  a  fool  and 
couldn't  grow  pine  that  they  got  to  believing  it.  They 
rode  him  so  hard  that  they  couldn't  believe  any  other 
way  an'  save  their  faces.  So  naturally  they  couldn't  run 
up  his  taxes,  'cause  if  they  did,  they'd  admit  that  they 


TIMBER  51 

was  wrong,  an'  men  don't  like  to  do  that  —  specially- 
after  they've  made  so  much  noise  about  bein'  right. 

"None  of  'em  was  any  more  down  on  you  than  Tom 
Burns,  my  own  uncle.  None  of  'em  ridiculed  any  harder 
than  he  did.  He'd  been  supervisor  from  Lincoln  township 
since  I  can  remember.  Now  he's  dead,  an'  I'm  in  his 
place  an'  I  aint  afraid  to  step  out  an'  tell  the  world  an' 
Blueberry  County  that  these  old  men  have  been  wrong; 
that  you  can  grow  timber,  that  you  have  grown  timber, 
an'  that  now,  by  God,  you're  goin'  to  pay  for  the  privilege 
of  growin'  it  in  this  county!" 

His  voice  had  risen  to  a  thin  cry  and  his  eyes  blazed 
churlish  triumph. 

\  "Yes,  it  is  likely  you  can  do  that,  if  you  want  to,"  she 
said,  measuring  each  word,  thinking  desperately.  "It 
has  been  done  before.  The  last  stick  of  hardwood  in  the 
county  was  taken  off  last  winter  because  you  men  taxed 
the  owner  to  the  point  of  financial  failure.  All  over  the 
country  logging  camps  are  slaughtering  timber  to  keep 
ahead  of  taxation.  You  may  start  that  with  me  if  you 
see  fit;  you  may  not  get  very  far,  but  —  " 

"Oh,  I  know  Humphrey  Bryant's  behind  you!  I  know 
he's  tryin'  to  turn  the  timber  taxation  upside  down  at 
Lansing.  Let  me  tell  you,  girl,  I'll  snap  my  fingers  in 
Hump'  Bryant's  face.  He's  got  to  get  elected  to  th' 
Senate  again  before  he  can  help  you  an'  he  ain't  so  much  a 
fox  as  he  thinks  he  is.  I'll  have  your  assessment  on  th'  rolls 
in  a  week;  I'll  have  you  whipped  before  th'  first  of  th' 
year  because  you  drove  me  off,  with  your  wolf  bitch!" 

He  forced  the  last  words  through  set  teeth.  The  girl, 
backed  against  the  door,  breathed  rapidly  as  he  advanced. 

"Unless  you'll  listen  to  reason,"  voice  lowering  to  a 


52  TIMBER 

whine.  "Unless  you'll  make  a  new  start  with  me.  Unless 
you—" 

"Sim  Burns,  you — " 

"Forget  it!"  His  hand  whipped  out  to  grasp  her 
wrist  as  anger  leaped  into  her  eyes.  She  struggled  against 
his  clutch. 

"Let  go!" 

"Let  go,  hell!  Choose  now!  It's  one  or  the  other:  me 
an'  your  forest —  or  neither!" 

He  had  not  heard  the  step  on  the  stair.  He  was  so 
centered  on  his  strategy  that  he  did  not  detect  her  relief 
and  neglect  to  struggle. 

"I  think  this  will  do." 

It  was  John  Taylor's  voice  close  behind  Burns  and  the 
man  looked  over  his  shoulder  sharply,  hand  still  clutching 
Helen's  wrist.  For  a  second  his  amazed  eyes  clung  to 
Taylor's  confident  smile  and  he  made  no  move. 

"Miss  Foraker  has  asked  you  to  let  go  her  arm  — 
You  will  do  it  now." 

There  was  a  snap  to  the  last  and  John  dropped  a  firm 
hand  on  Burns'  shoulder. 

Sim  whirled  to  face  him. 

"What's  this  to  you,"  he  panted,  rage  returning  to 
cover  his  start. 

"Not  much,  except  that  you  are  going  to  go  away 
now  —  unless  Miss  Foraker  wants  to  say  more  to  you. " 

He  turned  to  the  girl,  who  moved  away  from  the  door 
slowly,  as  though  not  just  certain  of  the  strength  of  her 
limbs.  She  did  not  look  at  the  men,  but  shook  her  head 
in  a  disgusted  reply  to  Taylor's  words. 

Burns  straightened  and  put  on  his  hat,  buttoning  his 
overcoat  haughtily. 


TIMBER  53 

"  Don't  think  you're  driving  me  out, "  he  sneered.  "  I've 
said  what  I  had  to  say  'nd  am  ready  to  go." 

''Which  is  fortunate  for  you,  but  not  so  fortunate  for 
me.   I'd  welcome  a  chance  to  throw  you  out!" 

John's  voice  trembled  on  that,  as  a  burst  of  dislike  ran 
through  him.  He  opened  the  door  and  with  a  quick 
gesture  indicated  the  way  out. 

"Don't  be  in  such  a  rush,  young  feller.  I  ain't  quite — " 

He  had  paused  to  fasten  the  last  button  of  his  coat, 
but  John  grasped  his  arm  and  with  a  yank  impelled  him 
to  the  threshold.  Sim  struggled  and  stopped  and  half 
turned  to  protest,  but  the  door  swung  swiftly  shut  and 
he  stepped  into  the  rain  to  avoid  being  struck  by  it. 

Taylor  stood  by  the  door  until  the  car  moved  away. 
Helen  had  gone  to  her  desk,  seating  herself  weakly, 
supporting  her  head  on  one  hand.  He  could  see  her 
profile,  softened  by  the  yellow  glow  of  the  lamp.  She  was 
very  lovely,  this  beauty  in  distress,  and  he  let  the  pride 
of  being  her  defender  come  to  full  life.  His  chagrin  at 
her  repulses  was  even  stronger  now,  for  he  felt  that  he 
held  the  upper  hand.  He  had  no  genuine  concern  for 
her,  no  sympathy  for  her  fright  and  depression.  No  longer 
would  she  patronize  him!  She  would  eat  out  of  his  hand, 
now!  He  moved  to  the  desk  and  stood  looking  down  at  her. 
Helen  lifted  her  face  and  met  the  amusement  in  his  eyes. 

"I  thank  you,"  she  said.  "It  is  lucky  for  me  you  were 
here." 

He  laughed  depreciatingly  and  settled  his  weight  to  the 
corner  of  her  desk,  swinging  the  one  leg,  big  hands  clasped 
on  his  thigh. 

"And  it  is  lucky  for  me,"  he  said,  "that  I  was  here. 
Helping  you  gave  me  a  real  thrill." 


54  TIMBER 

His  voice  was  low  and  gentle;  too  low;  too  gentle;  he 
leaned  forward  toward  her  and  smiled  and  one  of  his  hands 
dropped  to  the  blotter,  very  close  to  hers,  resting  there 
lightly,  as  though  it  would  move  forward  and  cover 
that  other  hand.  His  smile,  his  tone,  his  manner  indicated 
that  he  felt  himself  completely  the  master,  and  was  very 
certain  that  his  advance  would  not  be  repulsed  this  time. 

The  fright  went  from  Helen  Foraker's  eyes.  They 
studied  his  face  a  moment,  almost  abstractedly,  looking 
down  at  his  hand  and  then  back  to  meet  his  gaze. 

'Tlease  don't,"  she  said  abruptly.  ''There  is  no  one 
here  to  throw  you  out,  Mr.  Taylor  —  Besides,  I  didn't 
think  you  were  quite  that  sort. " 

He  straightened,  flushing,  feeling  cut  and  whipped, 
like  an  impudent  little  boy  who  has  met  dignified  rebuke. 
He  had  no  retort,  had  no  resources  with  which  to  bolster 
his  poise.  He  tried  to  smile  but  the  effort  died.  He  cleared 
his  throat  to  speak  —  he  knew  not  what,  then  felt 
welcome  relief  as  the  telephone  bell  whirred  and  the  girl^ 
rose  to  answer  it. 


CHAPTER    VI 

The  side  of  the  telephone  conversation  which  Taylor 
overheard  through  his  confusion  indicated  surprise  and 
regret.  Finished,  the  girl  turned  and  looked  for  a  moment 
squarely  at  him  and  he  flinched  inwardly,  for  he  expected 
that  elaborate  denunciation  would  follow,  but  when  she 
spoke,  she  said: 

"I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  go  with  me  on  an  errand  of 
mercy.  A  woman  is  very  sick  a  few  miles  away.  The 
telephone  line  between  them  and  town  is  down,  and  they 
have  sent  for  me  to  come.  I  can  help  there  perhaps,  but 
we  may  need  some  one  to  send  into  Pancake  after  the 
doctor.  There  is  no  one  here  who  can  drive  a  car  except 
you.    Will  you  go  with  me?" 

"Why,  of  course,"  he  stammered,  at  once  relieved  and 
mortified  to  think  that  she  should  ask  a  favor  of  him  in 
that  moment. 

"There  isn't  much  time." 

He  hurried  to  his  room  for  coat  and  hat  and  then 
followed  Helen  out  of  the  house  to  a  shed  where  her  car 
was  sheltered.  It  was  a  one-seated  Ford  with  a  box  body 
behind  in  which  shovels  and  other  tools  clanked  and 
thumped  as  they  drove  through  the  rain.  Little  was  said, 
the  girl  was  occupied  with  the  difficult  driving,  for  rain 
streaked  the  windshield,  and  Taylor  was  busy  with  an 
attempt  to  re-establish  his  own  assurance.  He  had  over- 
stepped himself,  had  been  brought  up  sharply,  but  instead 

65 


56  TIMBER 

of  finding  the  expected  resentment  in  this  girl  she  had 
called  on  him  for  help.    Strange,  surely! 

They  left  the  forest  behind,  passed  the  mill  with  its 
group  of  shacks  and  skipped  on  along  the  plains  road. 
Water  which  had  gathered  in  the  ruts  was  shot  across 
the  glare  of  the  lights  in  a  brief  arc,  the  car  lurched  and 
wriggled  in  the  twisted  road  and  black  brush  lacquered 
by  the  rain  reeled  past.  With  scarcely  an  exchange  of 
words  they  covered  the  distance  to  the  Harris  settlement, 
turned  from  the  main  road  and  stopped  before  a  house. 

A  door  opened  and  a  man  stood  silhouetted  in  the  light. 

"She  asked  for  you,"  he  said  cautiously  as  Helen, 
followed  by  Taylor,  approached  the  steps.  "She's  just 
dropped   to   sleep." 

"Could  you  get  the  doctor?" 

"Sim  Burns  was  going  by,"  the  man  replied,  "and  I 
sent  word  by  him." 

Helen  entered,  drawing  off  her  gloves. 

"If  he  doesn't  come  in  an  hour,  Mr.  Taylor  had  better 
drive  in  for  him.    Mr.  Parker,  this  is  Mr.  Taylor." 

Parker  closed  the  door  and  shook  hands  silently  with 
John  who  recognized  him  as  the  man  who  had  waved 
at  Lucius  that  afternoon.  His  unshaven  face  was  very 
white  and  his  black  eyes  seemed  abnormally  large  against 
its   pallor. 

"Doctor  was  here  this  morning,"  he  said  huskily.  "He 
said —  "  He  swallowed  and  shook  his  head.  "He  said 
a  day  or  two  would  tell." 

"  Is  she  —  Does  she  suffer?  "  Helen  asked. 

Tears  came  into  the  man's  eyes  and  he  looked  at  her 
helplessly. 

"It's  awful!    I  thought  yesterday  she  was  better,  but 


TIMBER  57 

in  the  night  she  lost  her  head.   She's  —  just  given  up. " 

Helen  looked  about  the  small  room.  It  was  well  ordered 
and  with  a  minimum  of  material  it  had  been  given  an  air 
of  comfort,  of  stability. 

"What  can  I  do?"  she  asked. 

"Nothin'   unless  she — " 

From  behind  a  closed  door  came  a  stirring  and  a  weak, 
muffled  voice: 

"Thad?" 

He  moved  quickly.   *'Yes,  Jenny,"  opening  the  door. 

"Who's  there?" 

"Miss   Foraker." 

"Oh  — Fm  so  glad." 

Helen  stepped  to  the  door.  Parker  took  the  oil  lamp 
from  its  bracket  and  went  into  the  bedroom  where  a  very 
slight,  very  pale  girl  lay  under  the  patch-work  quilt. 
She  was  very  young,  and  the  pain,  the  paUor,  the  weak- 
ness reflected  in  her  face  could  not  cover  completely  her 
girlhood.  When  her  blue  eyes  rested  on  Helen's  face 
she  tried  to  smile,  but  the  result  was  feeble.  One  of  the 
thin  white  hands  on  the  cover  stirred. 

"I'm  so  glad,"  she  whispered,  "so  glad  you've  come. 
I've  thought  about  you  so  much  —  I  wanted  to  send 
for  you;  I  think  you,  maybe,  can  understand  about 
us  better  than  any  one  else. " 

Helen  sat  down  beside  the  bed.  Parker  placed  the 
lamp  on  the  table  and  stood  looking  down  at  the  two 
women,  lips  loose  and  hands  limp  at  his  sides.  In  the  other 
room  Taylor  sat  quietly  near  the  roaring  cook  stove, 
in  the  shaft  of  light  which  came  from  the  bed  chamber. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  so  sick  or  I'd  have  been  here 
before, "  Helen  said  very  gently.   The  other  tried  to  smile 


58  TIMBER 

again  and  moved  the  hand.  Helen  took  it  between  hers 
and  the  sick  girl  closed  her  eyes  peacefully.  ''I  heard 
about  —  about  the  beginning,  of  course ;  I  didn't 
know  you'd  had  such  a  hard  time.  Perhaps  the  worst 
is  behind,  though;  that  is  something  to  be  thankful  for." 

Her  voice  was  very  gentle,  as  gentle  a  voice  as  Taylor 
had  ever  heard.  He  could  see  her  stroking  the  hand  she 
held  and  her  manner  was  in  such  contrast  to  her  former 
brusqueness  and  indifference  to  others  that  he  leaned 
forward  to  watch. 

The  head  on  the  pillow  moved  weakly  in  denial  of  the 
suggestion. 

''It's  all  over,"  the  thin  voice  said.  "I  know.  The 
doctor  knows,  but  he  won't  say  it.  Thad  knows,  but  he 
won't  give  up  hoping."  Her  husband's  hand  twitched, 
but  he  made  no  remonstrance.  "He  has  more  strength 
to  hope   than  I    had  —  I  haven't  any  at   all  —  now. " 

"Oh,  that  can't  be—" 

"It's  sweet  of  you  to  try  to  be  cheery,"  the  thin  voice 
interrupted,  "But  please  don't.  I  haven't  much  strength 
to  talk  and  I  want  to  talk,  because  it  will  make  me  feel 
easier  in  my  heart." 

Color  had  come  into  her  cheeks  and  a  tell-tale  brightness 
in  her  eyes.   Her  legs  stirred  restlessly. 

"Ever  since  we  came  here  two  years  ago  I've  wanted 
to  know  you.  Ever  since  I  found  out  what  you  are  doiijg 
and  what  Jim  Harris  is  doing  —  But  I've  been  a  little 
afraid  —  You're  so  busy  —  you  have  such  a  big 
job —  "  She  coughed  and  waited  for  breath.  "You're 
the  first  woman  I  heard  about.  They  told  me  you  were 
crazy,  that  your  father  was  crazy,  and  at  first  I  believed 
it  because  everybody  I  knew  said  so  —  Then  I  foimd 


TIMBER  59 

out  —  You're  doing  something  with  this  land  that 
no  one  else  has  the  courage  or  the  patience  to  do  — 
This  land  which  means  so  much  and  so  little. " 

She  stirred  again  and  was  silent  a  moment,  staring 
at  the  ceiling. 

"  I  suppose  every  one  thinks  their  troubles  are  worse  than 
anybody  else's,  so  'there's  never  been  anybody  to  listen 
to  ours.  The  people  who  might  be  friendly  are  in  trouble 
themselves;  the  others  don't  care  —  much.  I've  had  it 
bottled  up  in  me  so  long  and  it's  taken  so  much  of 
my  strength  —  the  trouble,  I  mean  —  that  I'll  have  to 
talk  of  it  now  if — if   I'm  ever  going  to  talk." 

She  moved  her  head  so  she  might  look  into  Helen's  face. 

''You've  been  here  long  enough  to  know  what  goes  on. 
I  just  want  you  to  know  that  we  —  Thad  and  I  —  know 
you're  right  —  now.  Maybe  there  are  some  others 
who  know  that,  too,  but  they  won't  take  the  trouble  to 
say  it — perhaps.  We've  been  only  nodding  acquaint- 
ances, you  and  I,  yet  we've  had  so  much  in  common. " 

In  the  pause  the  girl  seemed  to  be  thinking  carefully, 
planning  what  she  would  say  next. 

"I'U  have  to  go  to  the  beginning — You  see,  this 
was  to  have  been  our  home;  our  cottage,  our  vine  and 
our  fig  tree.  Thad  and  I  worked  in  the  same  office  in 
Chicago  —  we  hated  it,  both  of  us,  hated  the  city,  hated 
the  grind  that  didn't  seem  to  get  people  anywhere  but 
to  wealth  —  a  very  few.  We'd  never  known  the 
country,  but  we  used  to  spend  our  Sundays  walking  and 
we  got  the  idea  that  when  we  married  we'd  like  to  go  back 
to  the  land —  " 

A  sound,  like  the  shadow  of  a  laugh,  came  from  her 
troubled  chest. 


60  TIMBER 

"Our  interest  made  us  good  prospects  for  the  sharks,^* 
the  vaguest  hint  of  bitterness  creeping  into  the  feeble 
tone.  "Several  of  them  came  and  talked  and  explained 
and  worked  our  hopes  up.  Then  Harris'  man  came.  He 
was  the  most  —  the  most  competent  of  any  of  them. 
He  had  pictures  of  headquarters  here,  and  pictures  of 
prosperous  farms  —  taken  in  another  county,  we 
found  out  afterward.  They  offered  to  pay  our  expenses 
up  here  to  look  the  property  over.  It  aU  sounded  so  good 
that  we  signed  the  option — " 

She  closed  her  eyes  a  moment  and  breathed  quickly, 
gathering  strength.  Her  husband  sat  down  on  the  bed 
and  rested  a  hand  on  one  of  her  covered  knees. 

"It  wasn't  any  option  —  We  found  that  out  when 
we  got  here.  It  was  an  iron-clad  contract.  They  had  our 
word  and  some  of  our  money.  We  didn't  know  what  we 
were  getting  in  for,  because  we  were  only  city  people  — 
who  wanted  to  get  onto  the  land  —  we  gave  them 
more  money  to  save  what  we  had  already  put  in.  We  left 
our  jobs  and  came  here  to  live. 

"At  first  it  didn't  seem  so  bad.  It  wasn't  what  we  had 
expected,  but  we  still  had  plenty  of  hope  left.  The  land 
was  cheap,  we  thought,  we  believed  we  were  pioneers  and 
were  quite  proud  to  stand  the  racket  for  the  first  few 
months.  But  we  saw  other  families  leaving  and  some 
staying  here  and  starving  and  our  land  didn't  yield, 
and  the  more  we  learned  about  it  the  less  we  could  hope 
that  it  ever  would  grow  crops  —  Little  as  it  cost,  it 
was  very  expensive  — 

"We  were  suckers,  you  see;  suckers  for  the  land  sharks! 
They  took  our  money,  and  we  put  our  hope  in  behind 
the  money  —  and  it  wasn't  possible  to  get  either  out." 


TIMBER  61 

She  swallowed  with  an  effort. 

"Then  —  when  we  knew  a  baby  was  coming,  we 
didn't  care  so  much  about  this  failure.  We  thought  we 
could  get  enough  to  eat,  anyhow,  and  with  the  baby 
we  could  be  happy!  We  planned  to  give  it  one  more 
summer's  trial  and  then  in  the  fall,  when  I  was  strong 
enough,  we'd  go  back  to  the  towns  where  Thad  could 
get  a  job,  and  we  could  begin  all  over  again  if  we  had 
to  —  we  were  young  then,  you  see  — " 

Helen  leaned  over  and  stroked  her  brow  soothingly. 
"And,  you're  still  young." 

The  head  beneath  her  hand  moved  in  denial. 

"Old,"  the  woman  whispered,  "very  old  —  very 
old,  Helen.  You  don't  mind  my  calling  you  that,  do 
you?   I've  been  your  friend  so  long  without  knowing  you. 

"We  had  planned  for  the  baby  so!  I  had  sewed,  we  had 
decided  on  the  name  even.  We  knew  they  couldn't  put 
us  out  without  months  of  delay;  we  had  fire  wood  and 
a  roof,  and  a  cow,  and  Thad  could  get  food  somehow. 
Clothes  didn't  matter.  We  were  going  to  be  happy  in 
in  spite  of  the  failure. 

"And  then  the  baby —  "  She  swallowed  again  and 
paused.  "That  is  what  made  me  old,  Helen.  If  he  had 
lived,  it  might  have  been  different  —  But  when  he  didn't 
even  cry  —  not  once  —  something  broke  inside  me  — 
and  when  the  doctor  told  me  I  couldn't  ever  have  another 
baby  —  you  see,  the  last  hope  I  had  went  out  — " 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  did  not  open  them  as  she  said : 

"  I  lost  him  because  I  worried  so  much  over  our  mistake; 
I'd  worried  beneath  the  surface ;  I  grew  weak  with  it  and 
thought  I  wasn't  worrying.  I  lost  everything  with  that 
worry,  even  the  desire  to  live,  finally  —  I  —  That's  what 


62  TIMBER 

this  place  is:  A  graveyard  for  hopes!"  Her  voice  was 
suddenly  stronger.  *' That's  what  Jim  Harris  and  all  his 
kind  are:  murderers  of  hope!  Worse  than  that,  he 
killed  my  baby!  Jim  Harris,"  struggling  to  sit  up.  ^'If 
there  ever  was  a  man  without  heart  or  scruple,  it's  Jim 
Harris!"  She  sank  back  weakly  and  her  fingers  plucked 
at  the  quilt  while  she  panted  from  the  effort. 

The  color  had  gone  from  Helen  Foraker's  face  then, 
and  her  brows  were  gathered  in  suffering.  Her  lips  were 
set ;  she  made  no  effort  to  speak.  But  once  more  she  took  the 
girl's  hand  and  the  cold  fingers  clutched  hers  desperately. 

"We  went  to  him  when  we  saw  the  trick  that  had 
been  played.  He  wouldn't  give  us  back  a  cent  —  He 
was  hard  —  He  can  be  hard  —  He  would  listen,  but  he 
had  so  many  answers,  so  many  reasons  —  Legal  reasons  — 
He  is  so  good-natured,  seems  to  be  so  friendly!  That  is 
why  he  has  this  —  awful  success ! 

"Back  to  the  land,"  she  muttered  after  a  pause.  "Ah, 
such  land!  and  if  we  had  known,  we  could  have  gone 
north,  just  a  few  miles,  into  the  hardwood  cutover  and 
made  a  go  of  it.  We'd  have  had  our  cottage,  our  vine, 
our  apple  tree.  We'd  have  had  our  baby,  Thad  and  me  — 
and  we'd  have  had  our  hopes  —  our  yoiith  —  And  there's 
so  much  land  for  the  land  hungry;  so  much  good  land 
that  weary  city  people  might  have  if  they  only  knew 
more  —  So  much  —  I  can't  —  I  — " 

She  drew  a  hand  across  her  eyes.  When  she  spoke 
again,  her  voice  was  little  more  than  a  whisper. 

"And  even  this  land  is  good  for  those  who  have  vision, 
for  men  like  your  father  must  have  been,  for  women  like 
you,  Helen.  Timber!  Timber  as  a  crop!  They  all  said 
you  were  a  fool,  and  I  believed  them,  until  I  saw  —  You 


TIMBER  63 

have  grown  such  a  beautiful  forest  on  this  land  which 
won*t  grow  anything  else  —  You've  gone  ahead  and  paid 
no  attention  to  their  jeers:  you  had  the  dream  and  a 
wealth  of  hope  —  They  say  yet  —  you  can  never  pay 
out  —  But  I  don't  believe  them  —  They  are  so  ignorant. 
I  hope  it  all  comes  right  for  Foraker's  Folly  —  I  hope 
they  see  the  wisdom  in  it. 

"Oh,  this  graveyard!  this  graveyard  of  hopes!  a 
cottage  —  and  peace  —  and  enough  —  It  wasn't  wealth 
we  wanted  —  only  peace  —  peace  — " 

For  an  interval  the  others  waited,  watching  the  rise 
and  fall  of  her  chest.  "Peace,"  she  whispered  again  and 
her  lips  formed  other  soundless  words  and  then  were  still. 

"Asleep,"  whispered  Helen  and  Thad  nodded,  brushing 
his  eyes. 

Carefully  she  laid  the  hand  she  held  back  on  the  covers, 
rose  and  stepped  from  the  room.  Parker  remained  there, 
taking  the  chair  Helen  had  left,  bending  over  his  wife, 
hands  clasped  on  his  knees  so  tightly  that  the  knuckle 
bones  seemed  to  threaten  the  skin. 

In  the  kitchen  Taylor  rose  when  Helen  tiptoed  across 
the  bare  floor.  She  motioned  him  back  to  his  seat  and 
took  a  rocker  which  was  near  the  stove,  where  the  fire- 
light playing  through  the  cracks  fell  upon  her  face.  Her 
lips  were  still  set,  brows  drawn,  but  with  the  sympathy 
and  pain  in  her  eyes  was  something  else,  a  light,  a  deter- 
mination which  John  Taylor  had  never  before  beheld  in 
the  face  of  a  woman.  It  was  something  tremendous, 
something  beyond  his  experience;  he  was  not  equipped 
to  analyze  it,  though  three  hoiu^  before  he  had  thought 
he  knew  women  —  Now  he  could  only  sense  the  power 
of  this  girl! 


64  TIMBER 

He  found  that  his  palms  were  damp  with  sweat  and  that 
his  heart  was  beating  rapidly.  He  felt  useless,  out  of 
place;  he  was  glad  that  none  there  gave  him  attention; 
he  would  have  fled  into  the  rain  were  it  possible  to  escape 
unnoticed.  For  the  first  time  John  Taylor  was  looking 
life  squarely  in  the  face,  with  death  leering  over  his 
shoulder.  He  had  not  wanted  to  grub  for  his  money;  he 
had  come  to  Blueberry  after  an  easy  start  toward  fortune. 
And  these  people,  no  older  than  he,  had  been  willing 
to  grub  just  for  peace  —  and  had  failed  because  Jim 
Harris  made  easy  money. 

For  half  an  hour  no  sound  came  from  the  bedroom. 
Then  the  girl  whispered  her  husband's  name. 

*'Yes,  Jenny?''  He  slipped  to  his  knees  and  leaned 
across  the  bed. 

''Hold  me  close,"  she  whispered.  "Closer!  —  And 
Thad?  —  Thad?  —  Thad?" 

He  looked  about  and  shoved  the  door  closed  with  one 
foot  to  exclude  those  others  who  had  come  to  help  and 
could  not.  They  heard  a  creaking  as  though  he  drew  the 
girl  closer  into  his  arms;  they  heard  his  voice  murmuring 
and  heard  hers.  Rain  rattled  on  the  roof  and  the  thin 
shell  of  the  house;  wind  yelped  at  the  cornices.  The 
steel  windmill,  out  of  gear,  creaked  dolefully  as  it  moved 
in  the  blow.  A  distant  dog  barked  and  a  cow  bawled. 
The  clock  struck  rapidly  and  ticked  on.  Helen  filled  the 
stove  box  with  wood  and  sat  down  again. 

''If  the  doctor  isn't  here  in  a  few  minutes,"  she  said, 
"you  had  better  go  on." 

"I'll  be  glad  to.  Can't  I  go  now? " 

He  was  eager  to  escape. 

"No,  he  may  be  on  the  way,  and  you  may  be  needed  here." 


TIMBER  65 

The  brisk  clock  and  the  fire  made  the  only  sounds 
within  for  no  noise  came  from  the  other  room,  now.  Head- 
lights of  a  car  appeared  far  off.  Helen  rose  and  went  to 
the  window  and  as  she  moved  across  the  room  they  heard 
Parker  stirring  behind  the  closed  door.  He  came  out 
walking  very  slowly,  stiffly,  carrying  the  lamp.  He  put 
it  in  its  bracket  and  opened  the  damper  in  the  stove, 
moving  mechanically,  like  a  sleep  walker. 

'^Here  comes  the  doctor,"  said  Helen. 

Thad  started  as  though  her  presence  surprised  him. 

"Doctor?"  he  asked,  in  a  croak,  that  made  her  look  at 
him  sharply. 

"Oh,  Jesus!"  he  said.  "Oh,  Jesus  Christ  —  he's  too 
late!"  His  legs  gave  under  him.  He  sank  to  his  knees 
and  his  weight  sagged  back  upon  his  heels.  His  head 
was  bowed,  with  clasped  hands  pressed  against  his  lips. 
"Too  late,"  he  whispered  unsteadily  —  "She  stopped 
worrying  —  in  my  arms." 

It  was  not  yet  midnight  when  Helen  Foraker  and  John 
Taylor  drew  up  before  the  house  in  the  forest.  They 
had  not  spoken  a  word  on  the  way  back,  but  after  they 
entered  the  great  warm  room,  Taylor  lighted  a  cigarette 
and  spread  his  hands  before  the  fire  and  said  dully: 

"Lord,  that's  terrible!"  And  then  added  that  which 
was  in  his  mind  and  had  been  since  he  had  heard  Jennie 
Parker's  talk.  "I  met  Harris  in  Pancake  this  morning. 
I'd  hate  to  — "   He  did  not  finish. 

The  girl  commented  dryly:  "Jim  Harris  is  one  of  those 
who  don't  care  about  waiting  very  long  for  returns  on 
an  investment." 

Taylor  recalled  the  comment  he  had  made  on  her  own 


66  TIMBER 

forest  at  the  table  that  night  and  her  words  were  like  a  lash 
across  his  face. 

And  at  that  hour,  under  live  oaks  bearded  with  moss, 
Marcia  Murray  sat  with  crossed  knees  under  the  steering 
wheel  of  her  runabout.  Beside  her  Philip  Rowe  lounged, 
a  smile  on  his  thin  lips,  toying  with  a  magnolia  blossom. 

**Like  a  flake  of  moonlight,"  he  said  softly,  holding  it 
up  against  the  shadows.  "As  white  as  your  throat, 
Marcia!"  He  dropped  the  blossom  and  leaned  toward 
her,  arm  sliding  along  the  back  of  the  seat. 

The  girl  drew  away.    "Be  cautious,"  she  murmured. 

"With  you,  I  know  no  caution — " 

"You  did  when  John  was  here." 

He  frowned.  "Discretion,"  he  corrected  and  his 
glowing  eyes  twinkled.    "  I  envied  him. " 

"He  has  everything  you  want,  hasn't  he,  Phil?" 

"He  has  you,  it  seems." 

"And  his  father's  fortune?" 

One  of  Rowe's  hands  ran  over  his  chin.  "Not  yet," 
he  said,  and  in  the  casual  words  was  a  degree  of  triumph. 

The  girl  looked  up  quickly.  "Old  Luke  does  like  you, 
doesn't  he?" 

"He  likes  any  one  who  persists  —  and  persists  —  and 
persists  —  With  Luke  as  with  others,  persistence  wins. " 

He  leaned  further  toward  her  with  that,  and  the  smile 
was  gone  from  his  eyes;  gone  from  the  girl's  face  too, 
and  she  betrayed  a  flash  of  bewilderment,  of  wild  guessing; 
the  composure  came  back  though,  and  when  he  reached 
for  her  hand  again,  she  let  her  cool  fingers  nestle  in  his 
palm.  But  she  did  not  permit  him  to  hold  her  close  — 
very  close  —  not  that  night. 


CHAPTER   VII 

The  storm  ended  before  dawn  and  when  John  Taylor 
awakened  it  was  to  see  a  springtime  sun  striking  through 
the  clean  green  of  pine,  setting  the  drops  on  twig  and 
needle  blazing  with  the  splendor  of  jewels. 

He  sat  up  and  looked  out.  The  Blueberry  hurled 
itself  at  the  high  bank  opposite  him,  red  and  roiled, 
grumbling  as  it  was  turned  in  its  course.  Upstream  he 
saw  a  stretch  of  swamp  with  the  slender  spires  of  balsam 
standing  behind  dead  cedar.  The  sound  of  an  axe,  and 
a  man's  voice,  and  the  smell  of  wood  smoke  drifted  in 
through  his  window.  It  was  all  so  fresh  and  vigorous; 
he  sprang  from  bed  and  drank  deeply  of  the  fine  air  — 
and  then  remembered. 

Last  night's  experience  hung  at  his  heart  like  a  cold 
weight.  He  felt  older,  more  mature.  He  had  seen  death 
before,  yes,  but  it  had  never  come  close  to  him  as  ha)d  the 
death  of  that  strange  girl,  in  hopelessness  and  miseiy. 
And  then  there  were  other  factors.  This  matter  of  money. 
How  Jim  Harris  made  it  seemed  well  enough  yesterday 
afternoon,  but  a  half  a  dozen  hours  later  the  practise  had 
become  peculiarly  hideous.  Also,  Helen  Foraker's  attitude, 
his  attempt  to  make  a  very  broad  bid  for  supremacy  in 
the  natural  clash  of  their  personalities,  her  rebuke  and 
her  ready  dismissal  of  any  evident  ill-feeling  to  ask  him 
to  ride  through  the  night  with  her. 

It  would  have  been  less  uncomfortable  had  she  been 
afraid  of  him.    It  would  have  made  him  feel  important, 

67 


68  TIMBER 

after  a  manner;  as  it  was,  he  felt  of  very  little  consequence. 

A  car  approached  and  he  heard  voices,  Helen's  and  a 
man's.  They  entered  the  room  below  as  he  began  dressing. 

''There's  nothing  any  one  can  do,  Milt,"  the  girl  was 
saying.  ''Some  of  the  neighbors  are  there,  but  Thad 
wanted  to  be  left  alone,  more  than  anything  else.  He 
is  going  to  bury  her  there  beside  the  house.  She  wanted 
it  that  way,  he  said."    Pause. 

"Sim  Burns  stopped  at  the  mill  last  night,"  the  man 
said.    "He  made  threats." 

"After  he  had  made  them  to  me." 

"He  was  here?" 

"Here  in  this  room.  He  —  Mr.  Taylor  saved  me  a 
scare  by  putting  him  out.   He  got  quite  —  rough. " 

The  man  before  her  was  big,  with  gray  eyes,  light  hair, 
huge  hands  and  the  supple  limbs  of  a  man  who  has  grown 
up  in  action. 

"Talked  taxation,  did  he?" 

"Yes  —  that  was  enough." 

She  sank  to  her  chair  and  propping  her  chin  in  her  hands 
stared  gloomily  through  the  window.  The  man  stepped 
forward  quicldy. 

"You  know  what  that  means,"  he  said.  "You  know  he 
has  it  on  you.  There  is  no  use  trying  to  fight  the  law 
even  if  it  is  unjust.  Can't  you  see  that?  Can't  you  quit 
before  it  is  too  late?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "Don't  Milt,  please!  I  can't  quit 
empty  handed!" 

"You've  a  fortune  here  now.  You're  gambling  on  a 
chance  to  lose  everything  and  win  very  little  more.  It's  —  " 

"It's  only  the  beginning  of  the  pinch.  It  was  bound 
to  come.  We've  got  to  go  through  with  it!" 


TIMBER  69 

He  leaned  over,  fists  on  the  desk.  "Is  that  all  you  can 
think  of,  Helen?  Of  the  forest?  Isn*t  there  something 
else?   Can't  you  think  of  me  —  just  a  little?" 

Her  face  grew  troubled. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't,  Milt.  Love  is  a  big,  big  thing; 
the  forest  is  a  big,  big  thing.  I  haven't  time  for  more  than 
one  big  job." 

He  looked  at  her  with  his  jaw  set  strangely  and  after 
a  moment  breathed:  '* Sometimes  I  hate  this  damned 
forest!" 

She  started  sharply.   He  moved  away. 

"Milt  Goddard!"     The  man  whirled  then. 

"I  mean  it, "  he  cried.  "It  stands  between  you  and  me! 
It's  all  you  seem  to  think  about.  It'll  be  years  yet  before 
you  can  win  out,  if  you  ever  win,  and  those  are  the  years 
I  want  with  you.  The  years  you  need  to  be  loved  and 
have  somebody  to  stand  between  you  and  trouble." 

"If  you  hate  the  forest,  how  could  you  be  happy  with 
me?  The  forest  is  my  life."  She  had  risen  and  looked 
reproachfully  at  him.  "I  do  need  you.  I  do  depend  on 
you.  You  do  stand  between  me  and  trouble.  Without 
you  as  my  foreman,  how  could  I  manage?" 

"It  might  be  different;  I  might  not  hate  it,  if  it  didn't 
stand  between  you  and  me." 

"Then  you  don't  hate  it  for  any  other  reason?  You 
are  —  just  jealous  of  it,  Milt?" 

"Perhaps  I  am!"  he  flared.  "Perhaps  I'm  just  crazy 
jealous  of  it  as  I  am  of  every  other  man  who  looks  twice 
at  you  — Who's  this  Taylor?" 

The  girl  lifted  a  hand  in  hopeless  gesture  and  shook 
her  head.  "Milt,  you  make  it  so  hard  for  yourself  and  me. 
You  know  who  he  is,  and  you  know  why  he  is  here. " 


70  TIMBER 

''You  didn't  have  to  take  him  into  your  house." 

''There  was  only  one  bunk  left  and  there  had  to  be  a 
place  to  let  Lucius  sober  up/' 

"He  could  have  slept  in  mine,"  surlily. 

"I  didn't  know  when  he  came  that  you  would  be 
away.  And  —  Why,  Milt,  he  wouldn't  fit  in  the  men's 
shanty!  He  was  so  out  of  place  in  his  leather  coat  and  his 
soft  hands.  He's  big  and  strong,  but  after  all  he's  only 
a  little  boy,  and  not  the  sort  to  be  thrown  with  a  rough 
crew  hke  we  have  now.  He's  a  rich  man's  son  who  has 
never  grown  up  and  you  feel  out  of  patience  and  sorry  for 
him  at  the  same  time.  Aren't  you  ashamed  to  let  your 
jealousy  make  you  silly f'^ 

Evidently  Milt  Goddard  was.  He  grumbled  and  com- 
plained, but  in  a  few  moments  he  went  his  way  after 
talking  about  work  to  be  done,  though  it  was  clear  that 
his  mind  was  yet  on  his  frustrated  love-making.  Above, 
John  Taylor  had  heard  through  the  grating  in  the  floor. 
At  first  he  had  been  amused,  but  when  Helen  Foraker 
spoke  of  him  as  an  inconsequential  youth  who  needed 
protection  a  furious  flush  swept  into  his  cheeks.  It  was 
still  there  when  he  descended  to  find  the  girl  at  her  desk. 

"Good  morning,"  she  said  with  a  nod.  "I  took  a 
liberty  with  your  affairs  and  sent  Lucius  back  to  Pancake. 
I've  been  planning  to  drive  into  the  hardwood  for  the 
last  week;  I  can  make  it  today  and  from  there  I  have  to 
go  into  town,  so  you  may  ride  with  me. " 

"That  wasn't  necessary,"  he  said  coolly.  "I  had 
intended  to  spend  the  day  there. " 

"  I'm  sorry  —  I  didn't  want  the  children  to  see  Lucius. 
He  is  their  uncle,  the  only  living  relative.  Aunty  May 
who  is  responsible  for  them,  doesn't  like  to  have  him 


TIMBER  71 

around.  I  waited  to  explain.  Aunty  May  called  you  for 
breakfast  but  you  didn't  hear,  and  the  children  were  up, 
so  I  took  the  responsibility." 

He  looked  at  the  clock.  It  was  seven.  Helen  saw  the 
query  in  his  face. 

"We  eat  at  dawn,"  she  explained.  "I  was  up  a  trifle 
earlier  today  because  I  wanted  to  drive  to  Parker's. " 

The  fact  of  having  overslept,  coming  on  top  of  the  rest, 
made  him  feel,  in  truth,  hke  a  little  boy!  She  had  taken 
him  into  her  house  because  the  crew  in  the  men's  shanty 
were  rough;  she  had  been  patient  when  he  overslept 
and  disturbed  the  routine  of  the  household.  He  ate 
alone,  served  sourly  by  Aunty  May,  making  the  meal 
very  short,  and  when  he  left  the  table  Helen  at  once 
rose  and  reached  for  her  jacket,  indicating  that  she  had 
been  waiting  for  him.  As  they  left  the  house,  Pauguk, 
belly  down  in  her  kennel,  growled  raggedly  and  shivered 
and  half  rose  as  though  she  would  launch  herself  at  the 
man  who  had  kicked  her  yesterday. 

"You'll  have  to  watch  her,"  Helen  said.  "  She  doesn't 
understand,  and  she  doesn't  forget." 

They  climbed  to  the  single  seat  of  the  battered  car 
and  went  north  through  her  forest,  through  the  ranks 
of  pine  trees,  uniform  in  size,  growing  closely  together, 
crossing  those  cleared  strips  at  regular  intervals.  They 
overtook  Black  Joe  and  the  car  stopped  while  Helen 
talked  briefly  with  him.  He  carried  over  one  shoulder 
a  long  implement  mth  a  steel  blade:  a  spud  of  some  sort; 
and  under  one  arm  was  a  bundle  of  what  looked  at  first  to 
Taylor  like  pine  twigs,  but  from  the  other  end  protruded 
roots  covered  with  wet  clay.  Infant  trees  ready  to  be 
planted,  he  told  himself,  and  catching  a  word  in  the  girl's 


72  TIMBER 

talk  he  knew  those  lanes  which  made  a  checker-board  of 
the  forest  were  fire  lines.  The  idea  that  this  folly  of  Helen 
Foraker's  was  no  casual  happening  took  shape  rapidly  in 
his  mind.  Also,  the  idea  that  this  girl  was  a  person  of 
consequence  grew  with  each  detail  he  learned  of  her  — 

They  left  the  forest,  crossed  plains,  climbed  a  ridge 
and  came  into  a  hardwood  slashing,  with  limbs  and 
branches  a  tangle  on  the  ground,  cordwood  stacked  here 
and  there  and  an  occasional  lonely  and  crippled  sapling 
standing  above  the  ruin.  The  road  branched,  the  ruts 
faded  out,  they  dodged  stumps  and  finally  came  to  a 
stop. 

"This  is  yours,  isn't  it?"  she  asked. 

"Search  me!  I've  never  been  here  before;  I  was 
depending  on  finding  White." 

"Then  you  didn't  even  know  he  was  gone?" 

"Not  until  I  got  to  Pancake." 

She  started  to  speak,  but  checked  herself  and  looked 
at  him  searchingly. 

"Where's  the  railroad?"  he  asked. 

"Railroad?  Why,  the  right-of-way  is  over  yonder  a 
half  mile;  the  steel's  been  taken  up." 

"Taken  up?" 

"Didn't  you  know  ihatf^^   she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head.  Her  incredulous  question  seemed 
to  take  all  the  strength  from  him  and  he  felt  a  sudden 
natural,  unreasoned  need  to  talk. 

"I  didn't  know  anything  about  this,  it  seems,"  he 
burst  out.  "You  know  and  Lucius  knows;  Jim  Harris 
knew,  and  my  father's  attorney  in  Detroit;  my  father 
himself  knew  and  his  secretary  knew.  I  came  up  here 
to  do  the  first  piece  of  work  I've  ever  tackled,  so  bull- 


TIMBER  73 

headed  and  cock-sure  of  myself  that  my  pride  wouldn't 
let  me  ask  questions  of  anybody!" 

He  hitched  about  so  he  could  look  squarely  into  the 
girl's  face. 

"I've  seen  you  less  than  twenty-four  hours,  but  I've 
made  several  kinds  of  an  ass  of  myself  in  that  time!" 
he  went  on,  voice  trembling.  ''I've  been  sure  enough 
of  myself  before  yesterday.  I've  thought  I  was  able  to 
judge  people  and  I've  never  felt  small  l)efore  any  one  in 
my  life  —  especially  women.  I  didn't  like  you  from  the 
first.  I  thought  I'd  humble  you  last  night  after  I  put  that 
lout  out  of  your  house ;  instead  of  that  you  made  me  feel 
like  a —  a  worm! 

"I  heard  you  tell  the  man  you  call  Goddard  that  I 
was  only  a  little  boy,  the  son  of  a  rich  man,  who'd  never 
grown  up.  That  got  under  my  skin — two  hours  ago; 
but  now  I  guess  maybe  you're  right."  He  swallowed 
slowly. 

"  Is  that  going  far  enough?  "  he  demanded.  "  You're  the 
first  person  I've  ever  run  up  against  who  could  make  me 
say  these  things  about  myself.  I  have  never  believed  them 
myself  before.  I  thought  this  job  was  only  a  preliminary 
step  and  not  to  be  taken  very  seriously.  But  it  seems  that 
it  is  a  serious  matter  with  me.  I'm  on  trial  with  my  father; 
if  I  make  good  here  I  make  good  with  him  and  that  means 
backing  for  whatever  I  may  try  to  do  in  the  future.  I 
don't  know  what's  wrong  with  these  logs,  but  everybody 
else  does  know.  It's  my  business  and  I'm  not  in  the 
secret.    Now  I'm  asking  you,  a  stranger,  to  let  me  in. " 

He  stopped  as  suddenly  as  he  had  begun.  For  a  moment 
the  girl  eyed  him,  her  whole  interest  awakened. 

"  Get  out,  and  I'll  show  you, "  she  said  almost  curtly. 


74  TIMBER 

He  followed  her  over  tops,  around  piles  of  brush,  to 
the  brink  of  a  sharp,  deep  ravine.  The  river  could  be 
heard  murmuring  not  far  off,  a  partridge  whirred  up  from 
their  feet,  and  a  squirrel  scolded  from  a  sapling  None 
of  this  did  Taylor  sense,  nor  was  he  conscious  of  the  girl's 
eyes  on  him.  He  saw  only  logs!  Logs  by  the  hundreds; 
logs  by  the  thousands,  trainloads  of  logs!  Logs  on  end, 
logs  criss-crossed,  logs  in  a  wonderful,  hopeless  tangle  at 
the  bottom  of  that  ravine.  To  right  and  left  the  depres- 
sion extended;  to  right  and  left  went  the  logs.  Logs  three 
feet  in  diameter;  logs  as  small  as  six  inches  through. 
Logs,  logs  —  logs  —  in  a  meaningless  jumble. 

''Why  — Why  are  they  heref' 

She  let  one  hand  drop  limply. 

''AH  you  knew  was  that  logs  had  been  left  in  the 
woods?" 

"That's  all.'\ 

"It's  been  the  talk  of  the  country, '^  she  said.  "White 
contracted  with  your  father  to  cut  this  forty.  He  went 
at  it  the  last  thing  and  was  paid  for  the  scale  on  the  decks. 
He  was  not  to  get  his  pay  until  the  woods  were  clean, 
but  the  snow  went  with  a  rush;  he  knew  it  wouldn't  let 
him  finish  the  haul  so  he  dumped  them  here.  The  inspector 
who  represented  your  father  looked  over  the  slash  and 
found  the  woods  clear.  White  got  his  money  and  was 
gone.  They  started  taking  up  the  railroad  two  weeks 
before  this  was  discovered.  It's  thirteen  miles  to  the 
main  line." 

A  wave  of  hot  rage  swept  through  Taylor's  body, 
making  his  face  dark.  He  knew  then  what  the  chuckling 
of  his  father  had  meant;  he  interpreted  Rowe's  smirk; 
he  reasoned  out  Jim  Harris'  comments.    He  knew  why 


TIMBER  75 

Lucius  and  this  girl  had  been  surprised  at  his  errand. 

"Tricked!"  he  laughed  bitterly. 

"Of  course  you  were  tricked.    White — " 

"Not  by  White!  White  tricked  my  father  and  he 
passed  the  trick  to  me.  This  was  to  be  my  start  in  life. 
He  told  me  I  didn't  know  saw  logs  from  bumble-bees, 
but  I  know  enough  to  realize  that  with  this  mess  thirteen 
miles  from  a  railroad,  he  might  as  well  have  given  me  so 
many  —  worn-out  shoes!" 

He  laughed  again  and  drew  a  cigarette  from  his  case 
with  unsteady  fingers,  lighted  it  and  broke  the  match 
savagely. 

"He  can  have  his  logs!"  blowing  smoke  through  his 
nostrils.  "He  can  have  his  logs  and  let  'em  rot  for  all  of 
me!  I'll  find  some  other  way  to  make  my  beginning!" 

Helen's  gaze  travelled  down  the  ravine  to  the  river, 
flashing  in  the  sunlight,  to  the  swamp  on  the  far  side 
with  dead  cedar  standing  against  the  background  of 
her  pine;  but  her  eyes  did  not  reach  the  pine;  they 
remained  close  to  the  river's  bank  where  a  strip  of  white 
sand  showed  and  where  the  sunlight  glistened  on  the 
wet  bark  of  cedar  poles  drying  from  last  night's  rain. 
There  were  many  poles  on  the  skids  —  many  poles  — 

"A  quicker  way?"  she  asked,  almost  casually. 

"Quicker  and  easier." 

"And  what  if  these  logs  spoil?" 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  he  challenged.  "What's  that  to 
me?" 

"Nothing,  perhaps  —  but  maybe  it  should  be."  He 
eyed  her  closely,  interest  in  what  she  was  driving  at  over- 
coming for  the  moment  his  anger.  "Were  you  in  the 
army?" 


76  TIMBER 

"Yes." 

"Why?'' 

"Excitement,  and  everybody  was  doing  it." 

"Nothing  more?" 

"Oh  —  it  was  up  to  me." 

"Because  we  were  all  in  trouble.  Yes.  We  are  all 
going  to  be  in  trouble  again  before  long  if  people  go  on 
wasting  logs  and  the  opportunities  to  grow  more  logs." 
He  shrugged  his  shoulders  indifferently,  but  she  did  not 
appear  to  notice.  "We  have  only  a  fifty-year  cut  of 
virgin  timber  left  in  this  whole  country.  Trees  are  second 
in  importance  only  to  food.  What  are  we  going  to  do 
when  it  is  gone?" 

"Fifty  years  is  a  long  time  away." 

"Europe  was  three  thousand  miles  away." 

"Say,  what  are  you  getting  at?"  he  demanded. 

"Two  things:  The  first  is,  that  saving  these  logs  is  a 
necessary  thing;  not  perhaps,  for  you  and  me,  but  for 
the  country  we  live  in.  It's  only  three  hundred  thousand 
feet  or  so,  but  it's  going  to  save  just  that  much  standing 
timber  if  it's  made  use  of.  And  the  next  is  that  I  have 
from  my  father  a  natural  fear  of  waste  —  waste  of  material 
and  waste  of  men  and  women. "  He  removed  his  cigarette 
and  flicked  off  the  ash  absently.  "You  admitted  back 
in  the  car  that  you  had  never  done  anything  you  can 
point  to.  You're  about  twenty-five  years  old,  aren't  you? 
You  have  already  commenced  to  go  to  waste — " 

"I'm  through,  though!    I'm—" 

"You're  dodging  the  first  job  because  it  is  hard." 

"No,  because  they  tried  to  trick  me. " 

"And  if  you  give  up  they'll  succeed."  He  arrested  the 
cigarette  on  it's  way  back  to  his  lips.  "Don't  you  see  that? 


TIMBER  77 

The  laugh  will  be  on  you,  then.  Maybe  you'll  do  better 
in  a  small  sense  to  give  this  up  and  try  something  else. 
Your  father  gave  you  these  logs,  I  take  it,  because  he 
thought  you  would  fail.  If  you  do  fail  you're  wasting  an 
opportunity  to  show  him,  among  other  things,  that  his 
joke  was  cruel,  aren't  you?" 

*'I'U  show  him  yet,  in  some  other  way." 

"But  what  about  your  pride?" 

"Haven't  any." 

"Only  a  few  moments  ago  you  told  me  that  you  hadn't 
asked  about  this  open  secret  because  you  were  too  proud. 
You  didn't  like  to  think  yesterday  that  people  wouldn't 
m^ke  a  fuss  over  you."  He  frowned,  letting  his  eyes 
run  over  the  ravine.  "Isn't  there  something  to  what  I 
say?    Haven't  you  a  great  deal  of  pride?" 

A  new  emotion  was  stirring  in  young  John  Taylor. 
He  was  in  a  comer,  without  argument.  He  was  trying 
to  slide  around  the  obstacle  directly  in  his  path,  looking 
for  an  easy  way  out  —  and  he  was  proud ;  but  in  this 
hour  he  had  become  humble  and  more  honest  with  himself 
than  he  had  ever  been  before. 

"Maybe  I  have,"  he  said,  "but  what  can  I  do? 
Here  are  the  logs;  the  railroad  is  gone,  they'll  spoil  before 
snow. " 

"Whatever  is  done  must  be  done  at  once."  Her  eye^ 
travelled  again  down  to  the  river  and  rested  on  the  decks 
of  cedar  poles.  "Do  you  want  to  try  to  turn  this  joke 
on  your  father,  and  do  something  hard  and  to  be  a  pretty 
good  American  in  peace  times  by  saving  this  timber?  " 

"Will  you  show  me  the  way?"  he  asked  sharply. 

She  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  know  the  way.    I  have  an  idea,  but  maybe 


78  TIMBER 

it  won't  work.  First,  though,  I  want  you  to  go  to  Pancake 
and  put  it  up  to  the  best  logger  you  can  find  in  town.  If 
he  has  an  idea,  consider  it;  if  he  hasn't,  maybe  I  can 
help." 

He  pulled  the  cigarette  from  its  holder  and  dropped  it 
upon  the  ground.  His  face  was  flushed,  lips  parted  in  a 
smile  of  growing  eagerness.  The  girl  put  out  her  foot 
and  ground  the  coal  of  the  cigarette  to  extinction.  Then 
she  lifted  her  face  to  him  for  answer. 

John  Taylor  laughed  shortly. 

"As  far  as  I  can  see,  that's  not  unreasonable,"  he  said. 
"Let's  go!" 


CHAPTER    VIII 

"Who's  the  best  authority  on  timber  around  here?" 

John  Taylor,  hanging  over  the  desk  in  the  Commercial 
House,  put  that  question  to  Henry  Wales,  the  proprietor. 
Henry  applied  a  match  to  his  refractory  pale  cigar  and 
coughed  and  spit. 

"Humphrey  Bryant,"  he  said. 

"Lumberman?" 

"Nope.  Editor  of  the  Banner.  State  Senator  since 
God  knows  when.   But  he  knows  logs. " 

"Reliable?" 

"Well,  yes.  He  aint  very  pop'lar  in  his  home  town; 
got  a  lot  of  fool  ideas  about  holdin'  back  the  country, 
but  I  guess  his  word's  good. " 

John  went  to  the  post-ofl5ce  after  his  mail  and  put 
the  same  question  to  the  owlish  postmaster.  The  man 
craned  his  neck  that  he  might  look  through  the  wicket 
across  the  street  to  the  office  of  the  Blueberry  Banner. 

"Go  over  to  the  Banner  office, "  he  rasped  asthmatically. 
"He's  there  at  his  desk.  Hump  Bryant.  He  knows  all 
there  is  to  know." 

At  the  bank  he  was  referred  to  the  same  man  by  the 
fussy  little  proprietor,  and  Jim  Harris  who  met  him  on 
the  street  waved  a  hand  toward  the  new^spaper  office 
and  stated  that  Hump  Bryant  knew  more  about  logs 
than  Paul  Bunion  himself.  Harris  wanted  to  talk  further 
but  Taylor  broke  away;  he  had  a  feeling  that  the  man 
was  defiled  and  though  he  could  detect  no  hardness  behind 

79 


80  TIMBER 

the  good  humor,  the  words  of  the  dying  woman  last  night 
echoed  in  his  ears  and  made  him  uneasy  so  long  as  he  was 
within  sight  of  Harris. 

The  office  of  the  Blueberry  Banner  was  a  dingy,  dusty, 
dark  little  place,  smelling  as  all  newspaper  offices  have 
smelled  from  time  beyond  reckoning.  An  unpainted 
partition  divided  the  front  from  the  back  office  and  it  was 
plastered  with  newspaper  clippings,  many  of  them  yellowed 
by  age  and  dimmed  by  accumulated  dust.  The  floor  was 
of  pine,  the  boards  worn  thin  except  where  brown  knots 
showed  up  like  wens.  A  table  in  one  corner  was  stacked 
high  with  a  mixture  of  unopened  mail,  bundles  of  old 
papers  and  what  not.  Dusty  files  of  the  Banner,  bound 
in  calf -skin,  reposed  on  shelves;  a  picture  of  Lincoln 
hung  askew  over  them  and  on  the  opposite  wall  was  a 
lithograph  of  Hazen  S.  Pingree. 

At  a  cluttered  desk  sat  an  old  man,  a  small,  round,  old 
man,  who  struck  John  at  once  as  being  the  original  for 
all  the  Santa  Clauses  that  ever  tooled  a  reindeer  four- 
some. He  was  writing  and  as  Taylor  entered  he  looked 
up,  put  the  thick  lead  of  his  pencil  against  the  tip  of  his 
tongue  and  studied  the  new  comer  abstractedly  with  his 
bright  blue  eyes.  The  pencil  went  to  the  pad  and  labori- 
ously scrawled  a  coarse  line;  then  the  blue  eyes  came 
back  to  John's  face,  twinkling  brightly  this  time. 

''Good  morning,  Mr.  Taylor, '*  he  said. 

John  smiled.    "News  travels  quickly. '^ 

"Yes.  There's  little  fresh  in  a  weekly  newspaper  up 
here  except  the  advertising  and  plate  matter.  Have  a 
chair;   make  yourself  comfortable." 

"I  suppose  you,  like  every  one  else,  know  why  I  am 
up  here?" 


TIMBER  gl 

A  pink  tongue  roved  the  lips  behind  the  whiskers  and 
the  bright  eyes  studied  Taylor's  face  again.  He  took  off 
his  glasses,  which  had  been  shoved  back  on  his  forehead, 
and  swung  one  stubby  leg  slowly. 

"Have  you  seen  your  father's  logs?" 

"I've  seen  the  logs.   They  happen  to  be  mine  though." 

"Yours,  eh?    What  are  you  going  to  do  with  them?" 

"That's  what  I  came  here  to  ask  you. " 

"Why  to  me?" 

"Men  in  town  tell  me  you  know  all  there  is  to  know 
about  logging  and  I  need  expert  advice. " 

The  old  editor  wheezed  a  laugh. 

"Meet  any  of  my  political  enemies?" 

"If  I  did,  I  didn't  find  it  out." 

"They're  lax!  Wait  until  fall  an'  election  time  and 
you'll  hear  what  a  scoundrel  I  am  —  hum-m-m  —  It's 
advice  you're  after,  eh?  Since  you've  come  to  me,  then, 
I'll  get  personal  right  off.  How  much  do  these  logs  stand 
you  in  where  they  are?" 

Taylor  moved  uneasily. 

"My  pride,  sir  —  all  of  it. "  The  foot  stopped  swinging. 
"My  father  gave  them  to  me  for  my  start.  He  was  quite 
sure  that  I  would  fall  down.  I'm  inclined  to  think  that 
he  wants  me  to  fall  down." 

The  editor's  eyes  lost  some  of  their  brightness  and 
something  like  concern  showed  there. 

"That's  too  bad,  son.  It's  a  heavy  investment  and  the 
job's  a  tough  one.  Do  you  know  anything  about  logging 
yourself?" 

"Nothing.  Except  that%ith  logs  thirteen  miles  from 
a  railroad,  with  snow  gone,  the  owner  is  up  against  it." 

A    pause. 


82  TIMBER 

"To  cut  'em  up  for  chemical  wood  wouldn't  get  out 
what  you've  put  into  them,  would  it?  No  —  anybody 
could  do  that. "  He  leaned  back,  locking  his  hands  behind 
his  head  and  stared  at  the  ceiling.  "There  isn't  any 
possibility  of  trucking  them  out  by  team  or  tractor  without 
eating  up  their, value.  I  don't  know  of  a  portable  mill 
that's  available,  and  with  deliveries  on  machinery  as  they 
are,  you  couldn't  depend  on  getting  one  for  months  — 

"By  George,  Taylor,  I  don't  know!" 

A  man  smeared  with  ink  appeared  from  the  back 
office  and  the  editor  excused  himself.  He  had  no  more 
than  disappeared  when  the  outer  door  opened  and  Sim 
Burns  entered.  He  did  not  recognize  Taylor  until  he 
had  approached  the  desk;    then  he  flushed  and  sniffed. 

"Mornin',"  he  said,  rather  timidly.  John  nodded. 
Silence,  while  Burns  shuffled  —  He  cleared  his  throat. 
"I  expect  I  owe  you  an  apology,  Mr.  Taylor,"  he  said 
with  a  servile  whine  in  his  voice. 

"No,  I  don't  think  so." 

This  reassured  the  man,  who  said  with  more  confidence : 
"All  of  us  makes  mistakes.  I  didn't  know  who  you  was  or—  " 

Bryant  reentered  the  room  in  time  to  interrupt  Burns' 
attempt  to  ingratiate  himself  with  the  son  of  the  rich 
Luke  Taylor,  whose  identity  he  had  learned  soon  after 
reaching  Pancake  the  night  before. 

"Want  to  pay  what  I  owe,  Hump,"  he  said,  drawing 
out  a  purse.    "It's  two  dollars." 

"Just  the  price  of  a  fifty-cent  work  shirt,"  said  the 
editor  with  a  chuckle.  Sim  did  not  respond.  "Is  this 
an  election  bet,  Sim,  or  a  promise?" 

"I  don't  notice  you're  spreadin'  yourself  on  congratula- 
tions. " 


TIMBER  83 

"No,  and  your  hearing  is  excellent,"  grimly. 

"I  knew  what  you  was  up  to,  Bryant!  I  knew  you  tried 
to  get  somebody  to  nm  ag'in  me." 

"Yup.  They're  all  afraid  of  you  up  there,  Sim.  Your 
uncle  was  town  boss  so  long  he  got  'em  thinking  it  belongs 
to  the  Bums  family." 

"If  we  don't  own  it,  we  seem  to  be  in  charge." 

"And  more  's  the  pity,  Sim!" 

The  man  turned  to  the  door. 

"Much  obliged  for  the  two-dollar  plaster."  Slam! 
And  a  rattle  of  loose  glass:  the  only  reply. 

The  old  man  laughed  to  himself  and  sat  down,  but 
he  did  not  turn  to  Taylor  at  once.  He  watched  Burns 
cross  the  street.  A  limp  curtain  in  an  upper  front  room 
of  the  Commercial  House  moved  back  and  Jim  Harris' 
face  appeared.  His  hand  beckoned  to  the  new  supervisor. 
Sim  went  into  the  hotel  and  up  the  stairs. 

From  a  drawer  Bryant  took  a  worn  note  book  and 
opened  it  slowly.  He  glanced  at  the  clock  and  on  a  fresh 
page  wrote: 

"May  6,  1920.     11.09  a.m.    Sim  Burns." 

He  riffled  the  pages  slowly.  Many  of  them  were  covered 
with  just  such  notes:  dates  and  time  and  names;  nothing 
more.  He  dropped  the  book  and  folded  his  hands  across 
his  stomach  and  looked  at  John  very  soberly. 

"Son,  I'm  up  a  tree  and  don't  see  a  way  down, "  he  said. 

The  boy  looked  through  the  window  again  and  the  editor 
watched  his  profile  carefully.  For  a  moment  they  were 
so  and  then  Taylor's  expression  changed  as  a  shade  of 
hope  filtered  through  its  seriousness.  Helen  Foraker 
was  coming  across  the  muddy  street,  the  bright  red  of 
her  jacket  a  vivid  splotch  of  color  in  the  drab  little  town. 


84  TIMBER 

''She,"  gesturing,  "sent  me  here,"  John  said. 

Helen  entered  and  the  men  rose,  the  old  editor  bowing 
with  a  mixture  of  courtliness  and  paternal  affection. 

"Sit  down,  Helen,"  he  said  gently.  "Mr.  Taylor  says 
you  sent  him  to  me." 

"Indirectly.  I  asked  him  to  locate  Pancake's  best 
logger.  I  knew  who  it  would  be,  but  I  didn't  want  to 
send  him  to  you  because  I  didn't  want  to  risk  suspicion. " 

"Suspicion?" 

She  nodded.   "What  have  you  told  Mr.  Taylor?" 

She  glanced  at  John  and  Bryant  said: 

'  'He  brings  a  problem  I  can't  solve.   It  isn't  in  the  book. " 

"Give  up?"   The  girl's  eyes  danced. 

"Give  up,"  said  the  other,  bowing. 

"And  you?"   Taylor  merely  shrugged  for  reply. 

"Then  my  proposal  won't  have  much  competition!" 

The  editor's  fat  leg  stopped  swinging.  "  Your  proposal? 
You  mean  you  want  to  buy  these  logs?" 

"No.  I  want  to  handle  them,  though,  and  maybe 
saw  the  lumber." 

"Saw  it!"  The  desk  chair  rocked  forward  with  a  wail 
of  its  old  springs.  "How  in  the  world,  Helen,  are  you 
going  to  get  it  to  the  mill?  It's  sixteen  miles  by  road 
and  that  means — " 

"That  hauling  is  impossible,  but  there  is  the  river!" 

She  looked  at  Taylor  with  that  and  he  quickly  retorted: 
"River?    You  can't  float  hardwood!" 

It  was  one  of  the  few  facts  of  logging  on  which  he  was 
sure  and  he  thought,  for  the  moment,  that  his  ignorance 
was  being  imposed  upon,  but  she  said : 

"The  ash,  basswood  and  hemlock,  except  the  butt-logs, 
will  float.   You  remember  the  cedar  poles  I  cut  two  years 


TIMBER  85 

ago?'^  turning  to  the  editor,  "and  the  water  went  down? 
We  were  short-handed  and  I  left  them  banked.  They're 
right  at  the  mouth  of  this  ravine.  We  can  dog  the  maple 
and  beech  and  birch  to  the  hemlock  and  cedar  and  raft 
it  to  my  mill.   It  will  be  very  simple. " 

She  looked  again  at  Taylor. 

''I'll  make  you  that  proposition:  get  the  logs  to  my 
mill  at  the  cost  and  twenty  per  cent  and  if  you  think  I 
am  going  to  trim  you,  you  can  hire  somebody  to  watch. 
You  can  ship  your  logs  by  rail  from  the  mill  siding  or  I'll 
saw  them;  custom  job  —  and  you'd  better  let  me  saw 
them.  There  isn't  any  jack-works  to  get  them  from  the 
pond  to  the  track  and  your  hardwood  will  begin  dead- 
heading in  a  hurry,  so  it  ought  to  come  out  of  the  water 
as  fast  as  it  gets  to  the  mill.  Cars  are  hard  to  get  right  now 
and  you  might  have  to  handle  twice. " 

She  turned  to  Bryant  who  had  watched  closely. 

"I'll  leave  it  to  you,  Humphrey,  if  that  isn't  fair 
enough  for  a  salvage  job.  If  he  shipped  to  a  mill  it'd  be 
anyway  a  forty-mile  rail  haul  and  I  don't  know  as  he 
could  get  it  done  that  close.  Besides  it'd  add  to  the  cost 
to  handle  them  again  at  the  pond.  I  don't  think  it's  prac- 
tical to  get  them  out  with  a  cross-haul  or  swing  boom 
and  tackle." 

Taylor's  heart  filled  with  relief,  covering  the  rising 
suspicion  that  perhaps  these  two  were  conspiring  to 
gouge  him  on  this  proposal.  For  the  first  time  since  he 
had  looked  into  that  jack-pot  and  beheld  the  trick  gift 
which  his  father  had  thrust  upon  him,  he  saw  hope  ahead. 

Humphrey  Bryant  was  rubbing  a  hand  vigorously  over 
his  beard  and  the  smile  which  made  his  eyes  so  bright 
ran  out  into  a  chuckle. 


86  TIMBER 

"My  dear/'  he  said  to  the  girl.  "There  was  at  first 
something  in  you  of  the  Blessed  Damosel;  then  came  a 
strain  of  Joan  of  Arc;  this  morning,  I  see  the  qualities 
of  Catharine  of  Russia!" 

John  joined  in  the  laugh  and  then  checked  himself. 
A  moment  before  he  had  been  desperate  enough  to 
consent  to  any  sort  of  an  arrangement,  but  now  with  the 
girl's  proposal  before  him  some  instinct  running  in  his 
blood  from  the  blood  of  his  canny  father  sounded  a 
warning.  Her  statement  seemed  reasonable  enough  and 
simple.  His  logs  could  be  transported  and  sawed  but,  he 
wondered,  what  would  be  left  for  him? 

And  he  began  rather  falteringly  to  find  that  out.  He 
asked  foolish  questions  and  was  answered  patiently; 
technical  points  were  explained  to  him;  the  layout  of 
the  mill,  which  had  been  sawing  only  light  pine  logs  into 
box  wood,  would  have  to  be  changed  somewhat  for  the 
job;  he  learned  of  the  bark  market,  of  freight  rates,  of 
many  factors  which,  an  hour  before,  had  been  foreign 
to  his  interest.  He  learned,  it  is  written  here;  he  did  not 
learn  much;  he  was  told,  he  understood,  but  the  informa- 
tion slipped  from  one  ear  through  the  other,  because  this 
was  all  so  amazingly  new  and  remote  from  any  interest 
he  had  ever  held. 

For  two  hours  they  discussed  the  job,  and  John  went 
out  to  walk  and  talk  with  Ezam  Grainger,  the  banker, 
and  finally  he  went  back  to  the  office  of  the  Banner  to  sign 
the  formal  agreement.  With  no  little  temerity,  true, 
because  it  was  like  putting  his  name  to  a  blank  check. 
Still,  there  was  in  the  manner  of  Humphrey  Bryant  that 
which  induced  confidence  and  trust,  and  as  for  the  girl  — 
he  was  beginning  to  find  *her  quite  complex  and,  though 


TIMBER  87 

he  sensed  the  truth  that  she  was  a  shrewd  bargainer,  he  be- 
Ueved  that  those  level  brown  eyes  could  conceal  no  crooked 
thought,  that  her  fine  voice  would  speak  no  untruth. 

Helen  and  Bryant  remained  in  the  Banner  office  and 
John  walked  over  to  the  Commercial  House.  The  day 
seemed  one  of  the  brightest  he  had  ever  seen;  the  sense 
of  inferiority  that  had  been  upon  him  earlier  was  gone, 
absorbed  in  a  new  sort  of  self-satisfaction. 

Today's  decision  meant  money;  not  a  great  deal, 
perhaps  —  but  money ;  and  honest  money.  Somehow, 
this  qualification  had  never  been  of  much  more  than 
casual  importance  but  within  the  last  twenty-four  hours 
a  change  had  taken  place  in  him,  as  decided  as  a  chemical 
reaction.  He  wanted  money  more  now  than  he  had  ever 
wanted  it  before,  but  after  last  night's  experience  out 
in  Thad  Parker's  house  he  was  rather  particular  about 
how  it  should  come  to  him! 

He  sat  down  in  the  dingy  little  office  of  the  hotel  and 
wrote  at  length  to  Marcia,  telHng  her  Uttle  of  what  had 
happened  except  that  things  were  going  well,  exhausting 
his  vocabulary  in  love  making. 

While  he  wrote,  Helen  talked  gravely  to  Humphrey 
Bryant.  He  listened,  as  gravely,  to  the  story  of  the  visit 
that  Sim  Burns  had  paid  her  and  when  she  finished  he 
nodded. 

*'It  begins  to  connect,"  he  conmiented. 

''With  what?" 

For  a  protracted  interval  he  eyed  her  speculatively  as 
a  physician  might  look  when  debating  the  question  of 
telling  a  patient  the  worst. 

"To  a  movement  that  is  on  foot  to  build  roads  and 
more  schools  in  the  Harris  Development  district,  that 


88  TIMBER 

more  gullible  men  and  women  may  lay  their  hopes  on 
the  altar  of  his  greed  !'^  He  looked  down  at  his  desk. 
''This  is  Jenny  Parker's  obituary,  Helen  — "  He  paused. 
''Roads  and  schools  cost  money  and  this  is  a  poor  county. 
The  Thad  Parkers  can't  build  highways;  Chief  Pontiac 
Power  won't;  but  Jim  Harris  needs  improvements  to 
swell  his  profits.  Jim  Harris  was  behind  Sim  Burns  in 
his  election.  There's  only  one  property  left,  politically 
unprotected,  that  can  foot  big  bills." 

Some  of  the  color  went  from  her  face 

"And  that  is  why  they  threaten  to  tax  Foraker's  Folly 
out  of  the  country?" 

"It  looks  that  way.  We  can't  fool  ourselves  on  the 
direction  of  the  wind." 

He  rose  and  paced  the  floor,  rummaging  in  the  pockets 
of  his  baggy  trousers.  Thrice  he  went  the  width  of  the 
office  before  the  girl,  hands  lax  in  her  lap,  looked  up. 
Then  she  said: 

"I'm  depending  on  you,  so!  You're  the  only  friend  I 
have  who  can  stand  behind  me  —  or  before  me.  My 
father  could  teach  me  forestry,  but  in  the  game  of  trickery 
—  he  was  a  child. " 

The  old  man  rested  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"At  the  next  session  of  the  legislature,"  he  said,  "we 
may  be  able  to  make  sopie  headway  in  protecting  you 
from  our  asinine  laws.  And  until  then,  I'll  be  with  you 
from  soup  to  —  Omega!" 

Outside,  a  man  loitering  on  the  walk,  started  suddenly 
across  the  street.  A  curtain  in  that  upstairs  front  room 
of  the  hotel  had  moved  sli^tly.  The  editor  took  the 
worn  book  from  his  desk  drawer  and  wrote  painstakingly: 

"11.57  a.m.    Wes.  Hubbard." 


CHAPTER    IX 

That  was  the  sixth  of  April. 

On  the  morning  of  the  seventh  Milt  Goddard  and 
Helen  Foraker  were  covering  the  country  by  car  and 
telephone  for  teams  and  men.  The  slide  which  dragged 
logs  by  endless  chain  from  river  to  mill  was  overhauled, 
the  blacksmith  in  Pancake  was  at  work  early  making  a 
quantity  of  chain  dogs,  and  a  wagonload  of  supplies 
went  into  White's  abandoned  camps,  the  nearest  shelter 
to  the  ravine  in  which  the  logs  had  been  abandoned. 

That  night.  Black  Joe  dragged  out  his  turkey  and 
brought  to  light  his  aged  Grand  Rapids  driving  boots, 
unused  but  carefully  preserved  these  many  years.  He 
greased  them  again  and  sharpened  the  corks,  handling 
the  foot  gear  with  an  odd  excitement.  The  next  morning 
he  was  on  the  stream  early  with  dynamite,  wire  and  his 
buzzer,  and  the  heavy  detonations  of  the  explosive  punctu- 
ated the  day  as  he  tore  from  their  anchorage  those  snags 
which  had  impeded  nothing  but  driftwood  for  a  decade 
or  more. 

Three  weeks  later,  for  there  were  delays,  the  first  raft, 
old  Joe  ankle-deep  but  top-side  on  the  sluggish  maple, 
dogged  to  cedar,  swung  to  a  stop  against  the  boom  at 
the  mill  and  began  crawling  one  by  one,  up  to  the  waiting 
band-saw. 

On  a  morning  in  mid-May,  Luke  Taylor  sat  in  the 
library  of  his  Detroit  home,  dictating  to  Philip  Rowe. 

89 


90  TIMBER 

He  spoke  a  phrase  or  a  sentence  at  a  time  and  looked 
with  his  hard  old  eyes  out  through  the  broad  windows, 
down  the  sweep  of  formal  garden  toward  the  river.  His 
gaze  did  not  go  as  far  as  the  water,  though ;  it  was  arrested 
half  way,  not  on  the  Grecian  terrace  of  marble,  but  on 
the  trees  that  stood  above  it,  bending  their  tops  lightly 
in  the  breeze.  They  were  white  pines,  planted  there 
years  ago  despite  the  protests  of  the  landscape  architect 
who  planned  that  garden;  that  group  of  trees  was  the 
only  item  that  interested  the  man  who  had  paid  him  his 
fee.  It  had  been  Luke's  only  demand :  that  White  Pine  — 
capitalized  —  be  placed  where  he  could  see  it  from 
every  south  window  in  the  mansion. 

From  the  expression  on  the  old  man's  face  or  from  the 
tone  of  his  voice,  the  occasion  might  have  been  of  little 
importance.  A  look  at  his  secretary,  however,  would 
have  indicated  that  this  moment  was  of  great  conse- 
quence—  to  some  one;  his  hand,  holding  the  pencil, 
trembled  slightly  in  the  waits,  and  the  veins  on  his 
forehead,  close  up  under  the  sleek  hair,  stood  out  in  knots. 

Luke  went  on: 

''To  my  son,  John  Taylor  —  the  sum  of  fifty  dollars  — 
weekly  —  so  long  as  he  may — " 

A  flush  swept  up  over  Rowe's  forehead  and  a  sharp 
gleam  of  triumph  showed  in  his  lowered  eyes. 

"And  for  the  administrator — "  Luke  paused,  working 
his  mouth  vigorously,  and  cast  a  glance  at  the  head  of  the 
younger  man,  bowed  over  his  book;  his  glance  was 
crafty,  and  yet  in  it  was  something  of  good  humor, 
something  of  favor,  perhaps  something  of  admiration  — 
possibly,  too,  something  that  almost  reached  affection. 
He  did  not  know  that  Rowe's  heart  stopped,  that  a  chill 


TIMBER  91 

flashed  down  his  limbs.  This  was  the  moment,  the  one 
he  had  plotted  and  planned  —  the  moment  when  a  new 
administrator  would  be  named  in  a  new  will  — 

But  before  Luke  could  go  on  the  door  opened,  a  maid 
slipped  in  and  dropped  letters  on  the  desk. 

The  intrusion  distracted  the  old  man,  whose  eyes  rested 
on  the  mail.  Rowe  followed  the  girl's  retreat  from  the 
room  as  though  he  could  have  harmed  her  for  that  break  — 
and  Luke  was  saying: 

"What's  in  the  mail,  Rowe?   Anything  from  — " 

The  other  put  his  note  book  down  and  ran  through  the 
letters. 

''From  McLellan  —  Internal  Revenue  collector.  Red 
Cross  —  Here's  one  from  Pancake." 

"From  John?"  The  old  man  leaned  forward  sharply. 
"He's  written  at  last,  eh?   Read  it!" 

"You  don't  want  to  finish  the  matter  of  the  will,  then?" 

"That  can  wait!  Read  what  the  cub  says,"  with  an 
impatient  gesture.  "First  letter  in  all  these  weeks. 
What  th'  devil  's  he  up  to?" 

Rowe's  fingers  were  unsteady  as  they  tore  open  the 
envelope  and  rattled  the  creases  from  the  paper.  He  read 
aloud. 

"Dear  Father:  It  has  been  nearly  a  month  since  I  left 
you  to  take  up  this  job  and  I  have  not  written  for  two 
reasons.  First,  I  have  been  very  busy  learning  necessary 
things;  secondly,  I've  had  nothing  definite  to  tell 
you." 

Rowe  paused,  and  his  face  lost  color. 

"Go  on,"  said  Luke. 

"Today,  the  first  two  cars  of  maple  started  rolling. 
They  go  to  Bender  of  Detroit  at  $76  for  No.  2  Common 


92  TIMBER 

and  better  on  track.  The  quality  grades  up  to  average  — 
Hastily,  John." 

*T.S.  I'm  well,  happy  and  busy.   Love  to  mother. " 

Rowe's  eyes  went  back  over  the  paragraphs  and  his 
brows  contracted  a  bit.  Old  Luke  was  very  still  a  moment; 
then  he  said  grimly: 

''Read  that  again.'' 

Rowe  did,  his  voice  not  just  steady. 

''There's  a  trick  somewhere.   Call  Bender!" 

On  the  telephone  Rowe  got  the  head  of  the  lumber 
firm. 

"Mr.  Bender,  this  is  Rowe,  Mr.  Luke  Taylor's  secre- 
tary—" 

' '  Bookkeeper !    Bookkeeper ! ' '  mumbled  Luke  irritably. 

" — and  I'm  inquiring  about  lumber  from  Blueberry 
County  —  You  did  —  Yes,  Mr.  John  Taylor  —  you. 
Thank  you,  sir — " 

He  turned  to  Luke.    "They  bought  all  right." 

"At  that  price?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  old  man  wriggled  as  nearly  erect  as  his  back  would 
permit  and  smote  the  floor  a  stout  blow  with  his  cane. 
"Sellin'  the  lumber,  Rowe!  Sellin'  lumber!  When  McLellan 
had  the  best  men  he  knows  about  on  the  job  and  they 
reported  it  was  a  dead  loss!  He's  took  logs  that  nobody 'd 
touch  and  's  makin'  'em  into  lumber  an'  sellin'  it  green 
under  my  nose!" 

His  words  gave  way  to  a  spasm  of  wheezy  laughter 
and  he  waved  his  cane. 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  snapped  Rowe. 

"Understand!  Understand  it?  Why,  damn  it,  it's 
as  plain  as  a  mole  on  a  pretty  girl's  chin!    The  young 


TIMBER  93 

buck's  got  something  in  him,  Rowe.  I  thought  he  didn't. 
I  tried  to  show  him  up  —  and  by  the  Lord  Harry,  he's 
showin'  me  up!   Showin'  us  up,  Rowe." 

He  laughed  again  until  he  strangled  for  breath. 

Rowe  picked  up  his  note  book  and  sat  down.  "Do  you 
want  to  go  on?"  he  asked. 

"With  the  will?  The  will,  eh?—"  Luke  mumbled  to 
himself  and  his  blue  eyes  studied  his  secretary's  face; 
then  went  out  to  that  clump  of  pine.  "No  —  no,  Rowe. 
We  won't  go  on  with  that,  today.  Telephone  McLellan 
I've  changed  my  mind  about  changin'  my  will  —  for 
a  few  days  —  a  few  days  —  He  won't  need  to  come  out 
here  this  afternoon  —  Fifty  dollars  a  week  an'  th'  young 
buck  fooled  me!   He  laughed  last,  Rowe,  he's  laughed  — 

"Here,  take  a  letter!" 

The  smile  in  his  eyes  was  brighter. 

"John  Taylor,  esquire,  Pancake,  Mich.  Yours  of 
recent  date  received  and  contents  noted.  Your  mother 
is  well.    Yours  truly. 

"P.S.  Bender  is  making  his  cracks  that  he  beat  you 
on  your  first  shipment.  Watch  the  market  and  don't  be 
a  bigger  damn  fool  than  you  can  help. " 

He  grinned.  Rowe  looked  up  sullenly  at  this  statement 
which  had  no  foundation  in  fact. 

"A  line  in  time  often  gathers  a  lot  of  moss,  Rowe," 
remarked  Luke.    "Now  send  his  mother  here  —  hurry!" 

Curled  on  a  chaise  longue  in  her  chintz-draped  bed- 
room, Marcia  Murray,  too,  read  a  letter  from  Pancake 
that  forenoon,  read  with  a  mounting  flush  in  her  cheek 
and  a  light  in  her  blue  eyes  that  was  not  of  good  nature. 

For  a  month,  now,  these  letters  had  registered  a  cumula- 


94  TIMBER 

tive  change  in  John  Taylor.  He  had  gone  away  a  cynical, 
blase,  conceited  young  man  of  the  world;  he  was  losing 
that  cynicism  and  indifference;  he  was  becoming  as 
enthusiastic,  as  impulsive  as  a  university  sophomore, 
and  as  wrought  up  over  his  success  as  a  normal  twelve- 
year-old  is  over  the  capture  of  his  first  fish  and  game. 
And  to  Marcia  Murray  his  rewards  were  about  as  signifi- 
cant. 

In  this  letter  he  told  of  the  sale  of  his  first  lumber 
and  figured  for  her  the  approximate  profit;  he  forecasted 
the  grand  total  that  his  venture  would  yield,  setting  it  off 
with  underscoring  and  exclamation  points,  but  as  the  girl 
read,  her  thin  lips  drew  up  in  the  suggestion  of  a  curl. 
Where  a  month  ago  his  letters  had  consisted  of  a  dignified 
and  assured  love-making,  they  now  chattered  on  about 
people  who  did  not  interest  her  at  all;  Humphrey  Bryant, 
of  whom  John  wrote  as  a  firm  friend;  about  a  person 
named  Black  Joe  —  evidently  not  colored  —  who  refused 
John  his  confidence;  and  about  Helen  Foraker,  with  a 
repression  and  an  irregularity  in  the  style  which  Marcia 
did  not  detect. 

She  finished  this  letter: 

"Vm  awfully  sorry,  but  it  won't  be  possible  for  me  to 
spend  much  time  at  the  house  party  at  Dick  Mason's 
lodge.  You  go,  by  all  means,  and  I  may  be  able  to  spend 
Sundays  there.  It's  hard,  Marcia,  to  give  up  that  sort  of 
thing,  but  I'm  beginning  to  feel  that  my  father  wasn't  so 
far  wrong  in  thinking  I  didn't  amount  to  much.  The 
more  I  think  of  it  the  less  I  am  inclined  to  ever  ask  a 
favor  of  him.  This  that  I  am  making  is  all  my  own." 

Her  eyes  lingered  on  that  paragraph  and  her  slender 
brows  quirked;  she  glanced  idly  back  over  the  letter, 


TIMBER  95 

stopping  again  on  the  page  where  he  forecasted  his  possible 
profits.  She  folded  the  paper  and  placed  it  in  the  envelope 
and  as  she  tossed  it  to  the  dressing  table  there  was  some- 
thing savage  in  the  gesture  and  she  sniffed  disdainfully. 

In  the  hall  a  telephone  jingled  and  she  went  to  answer  it. 

"Hello  —  Oh,  yes,  Phil  — No,  not  tonight,  thank 
you  —  Oh,  I've  a  headache  —  By  the  way,  Phil,  has 
Mr.  Taylor  heard  from  John?  He  has?  No  —  Yes  — 
after  all,  you  might  take  me  out  a  while  this  evening  — 
about  nine?    Good-bye." 

Looking  at  the  reflection  of  her  cool  blue  eyes  as  her 
cool  small  hands  worked  in  her  golden  hair,  Marcia 
spoke  again: 

"Of  course,  if  he  should  please  his  —  But,  damn  it  all! 
He  doesn't  want  the  old  crab's  money!" 


CHAPTER    X 

On  Helen  Foraker's  suggestion,  John  had  gone  to  Uve 
in  the  men's  shanty  with  Milt  Goddard,  Black  Joe  and 
the  balance  of  the  crew  that  had  not  been  shifted  to  the 
White  camp. 

"This  is  your  job,"  she  said.  "I  am  only  working  for 
you.  I'll  be  more  comfortable  if  you  see  what  is  going 
on  both  on  the  river  and  at  the  mill,  and  you  can't  see  if 
you  stay  in  town." 

It  was  not  a  congenial  shelter  for  him.  He  was  out  of 
place,  did  not  belong  to  the  class  of  men  with  whom  he 
ate  and  slept  and  his  reputation  as  a  ''mixer"  in  that 
other  existence  he  had  lived  did  him  no  good  here.  More, 
Goddard  was  surly  and  gruff,  as  his  deeply  rooted  jealousy 
prompted.  Black  Joe  ignored  John  and  would  respond 
to  none  of  his  advances.  When  Taylor  asked  questions 
Joe  would  look  about  and  grunt  scornfully  and  say  to 
some    one: 

''Did  you  hear  that?  He,"  brandishing  his  pipe  stem 
toward  John,  "wants  to  know  if — "  repeating  the 
question.  Then  he  would  answer  explosively:  "Of  course 
it  is!"  Or:  "Hell,  no/"  giving  by  tone  and  manner  the 
inference  that  none  but  an  addle-pate  would  have  put 
such  a  query. 

After  their  agreement  was  signed,  Taylor  had  nothing 
of  a  personal  nature  in  common  with  Helen  Foraker. 
Their  conversations  were  all  brief  and  wholly  concerned 
with  the  work  and  much  of  her  talk  was  as  Greek  to 


TIMBER  97 

Taylor.  He  watched  the  girl  closely,  with  a  growing 
humility,  which,  strangely,  he  did  not  resent.  He  saw 
her  those  first  days,  among  the  men  in  the  ravine  where 
teams  snaked  the  logs  from  their  jumble  to  the  river's 
edge,  where  they  were  caught  in  a  boom  and  dogged  into 
rafts.  She  was  sparing  of  words,  untiring,  always  alert, 
and  she  knew  what  was  going  on.  He  heard  her  challenge 
the  method  of  a  teamster  whose  horses  were  stuck  when 
the  log  they  skidded  jammed  between  two  great  stumps. 

''Back  now,  and  swing  in  gee, "  she  said  sharply.  " Don't 
yell  at  them!  You've  got  your  team  up  in  the  air.  Trj'^ 
it  again  —  Haw,  now!" 

The  log  was  obstinate,  the  teamster  flushing  as  others 
looked  on  to  see  her  directions  sting  his  pride. 

"  If  you  don't  like  my  way,  why  don't  you  try  it  your- 
self?" he  asked. 

She  dropped  from  the  log  on  which  she  stood,  took  the 
reins  from  him,  tried  and  failed;  let  the  team  rest,  rubbed 
their  noses,  eased  the  collars,  and  started  them  again  — 
They  strained  together,  skin  wrinkling  over  their  broad 
rumps,  they  grunted,  swung,  and  the  log  started  forward. 

''Now  you  take  them,"  she  said,  returning  the  lines. 
"You'll  go  farther  with  a  low  voice." 

She  had  been  right.  The  man  grinned  himself  because 
he  had  been  wrong  and  shown  up  fairly. 

Taylor  saw  her  rebuke  a  youth  for  carelessly  driving 
in  the  dog-wedge. 

"That  won't  hold,"  she  said,  kicking  the  wedge  with 
her  boot  toe.  "If  that  raft  goes  to  pieces  and  that  one 
log  dead-heads,  we're  losing  as  much  as  we're  paying 
you  for  a  day's  work.   Knock  it  out  and  put  it  in  right!" 

The  boy  did.    In  the  vernacular  of  the  men,  she  got 


98  TIMBER 

away  with  it;  and  because  she  knew  and  was  sure  she 
knew. 

He  saw  a  farmer  who  had  come  to  work  for  a  few  days 
standing  close  behind  a  team  as  the  driver  prepared  to 
skid  out  a  log. 

"That's  dangerous,"  Helen  called  out. 

The  man  grumbled  that  he  had  been  in  the  woods  before, 
but  did  not  move. 

The  horses  started  forward  and  hung  and  strained  — 
and  one  tooth  of  the  heavy  tongs  slipped  from  its  hold 
and  the  implement  shot  forward,  spinning  over,  struck 
the  man's  thigh  and  bit  savagely  into  the  flesh  before 
the  horses,  lurching  forward  at  the  sudden  relief  of  strain, 
could  be  stopped.  The  tongs  fell  away  but  the  polished 
steel  was  smeared  with  blood  and  the  man's  pants  leg 
darkened  quickly  with  it. 

Helen  was  the  first  to  his  side,  borrowing  a  knife, 
slitting  his  clothing,  exposing  the  two  ugly  holes  in  the 
flesh,  one  of  which  spurted  an  alarming  stream  where 
an  artery  had  been  torn.  She  took  the  man's  suspenders, 
bound  them  about  his  leg  above  the  injury  and  twisted 
the  tourniquet  tight  with  a  stick  —  She  was  gone  most 
of  the  day,  remaining  in  camp  with  the  man  until  the 
doctor  from  Pancake  had  come  to  dress  the  injury,  and 
then  going  herself  to  tell  his  family  of  the  accident. 

(They  recounted  this  of  her  while  she  waited  for  the 
doctor:  '*  ^Swear',  she  says.  'Swear  if  it  hurts  too  much. 
I've  heard  worse  oaths  than  you  can  invent!'  ") 

Another  item:  He  heard  men  on  the  job  scoffing  at 
the  idea  of  timber  as  a  crop;  in  Pancake  he  saw  men  grin 
and  mutter  to  one  another  as  Helen  passed,  and  knew 
that  the  girl  was  aware  that  she  was  being  laughed  at 


TIMBER  99 

derisively.  Her  manner  on  such  occasions  was  striking  ;-the 
soldiers  of  his  company  would  have  given  her  the  blanket 
characterization  of  the  army  and  said  that  she  was  hard- 
boiled;  his  mother  would  have  said  that  she  carried  a 
chip  on  her  shoulder;  Taylor  himself  thought  her  defiance 
splendid.  She  could  not  divorce  herself  from  her  forest; 
when  men  belittled  it  and  the  idea  behind  it,  it  was  as 
though  they  had  made  uncouth  fun  of  her.  To  be  a 
friend  of  the  girl  required  that  sjmfipathy  for  her  imder- 
taking  be  made  evident;  to  be  outside  her  favor  it  was 
necessary  only  to  show  no  charity  for  the  work  her  father 
started.  Nothing  else  seemed  to  influence  her  to  any 
extent. 

Such  things  he  saw,  and  others:  Saw  her  jump  lightly 
from  log  to  log  as  she  went  over  the  face  of  that  tangle, 
poised  like  a  splendid  animal,  lithe  and  alive  and  as  sure 
of  her  body  as  she  was  of  her  mind.  He  watched  her 
cross  the  river,  leaving  behind  a  rank  of  logs  which  rose 
sluggishly  from  the  immersion  her  weight  gave  them, 
but  she  reached  the  boom  of  high-riding  cedars  without 
wetting  her  stout  boots.  And  he  saw  her  in  a  canoe, 
driving  the  light  craft  upstream,  arms  and  shoulders 
and  torso  working  with  a  rhythm  which  set  his  heart 
in  faster  measure. 

He  had  been  at  the  mill  one  morning  and  was  walking 
through  the  forest  to  the  skidway.  At  the  house  Black 
Joe  came  from  the  woods  and  scarcely  grunted  in  return 
to  John's  salutation.  But  after  Taylor  had  passed,  he 
heard  the  man  hail  him. 

Turning  about,  he  saw  Aunty  May  standing  in  the 
kitchen  door.  They  were  within  ear-shot  of  the  woman, 
but  Joe  said,  ''Say,  tell  her  Miss  Helen  won't  be  down  for 


100  TIMBER 

dinner.     She  wants  to   know   if  Hump   Bryant's   tele- 
phoned." 

Taylor  repressed  a  smile  at  this  strange  procedure  which 
he  had  witnessed  on  several  occasions,  and  repeated  the 
information  and  the  question. 

''Tell  him,"  said  Aunty  May,  ''that  there  ain't  been 
a  'phone  call  all  forenoon." 

Gravely  Taylor  passed  along  the  message  and  then, 
as  the  woman  turned  into  the  house  and  Joe  went  on, 
he  resumed  his  waj^ 

A  childish  shout  from  below  checked  him  on  the  high 
bank  and  he  looked  down  to  see  Bobby  and  Bessy  in  the 
baby  trap.  That  was  what  all  Foraker's  Folly  called 
the  small,  dry  sand  bar,  separated  from  the  bank  by  a 
dozen  feet  of  shallow  water  and  reached  by  a  small  foot 
bridge  made  of  stakes  driven  firmly  in  and  planks  laid 
along  them.  Each  fair  morning  Aunty  May  shooed  her 
charges  across  the  bridge  and  then  drew  the  planks  to 
shore,  therebj^  isolating  the  children  on  their  sand  bar  and 
leaving  her  wholly  free  for  the  housework. 

"  There!  ^'  she  would  say  each  time  she  disposed  of  them. 
^'Now  I  know  where  you  younguns  are  at!" 

The  peril  of  water  was  deeply  planted  in  their  hearts 
and  they  never  attempted  the  easy  wade  to  shore. 

However,  playing  in  the  clean  sand  grew  monotonous 
and  though  the  children  never  openly  protested,  they 
were  full  of  excuses  to  delay  their  isolation,  full  of  enthu- 
siasm when  released  and  ever  on  the  watch  for  some  passer 
who  might  be  waylaid  and  induced  to  talk.  Bobby, 
seeing  Taylor,  had  halted  him  without  excuse,  but  when 
John  stopped  the  youngster  pointed  toward  shore  and 
cried : 


TIMBER  i';.'  101 

"Look!    Looky!''  '•'•'••-' '^  •.'..  .      .     . 

''At  what?" 

''There!    Somepin— " 

"A  kic-kic,"  said  Bessy. 

Bobby  grmned.  "She  means  a  cricket.  That's  what  it 
is.   I  fought  it  was  somepin  worse. " 

Taylor  smiled,  seeing  the  ruse,  commented*  casually 
and  started  on. 

"Did  you  see  Black  Joe?''  Bobby  was  standing  on  the 
shore  side  of  the  bar  now,  toes  almost  in  the  water,  and 
Bessy  was  beside  him,  finger  in  her  mouth,  wide-eyed 
in  expectancy  at  this  game  she  knew  so  well. 

"Yes,  I  saw  Joe.    Why?" 

"Oh  —  we  seen  —  saw  him  too. " 

Bessy  waved  a  hand  at  the  river  behind  her. 

"We  see  wog  go  by-by, "  she  trebled. 

Her  brother  smiled  and  straightened  her  sunbonnet. 
"She  says,  we  watch  the  logs  go  by,"  he  interpreted. 

"Wotta  wog  —  wotta  big  wog." 

"That  means  lots  of  big  logs.  She  don't  talk  veiy 
plain. " 

Pause.  Bobby  broke  it  hastily,  for  pauses  were  dan- 
gerous. 

"Did  you  see  Aunty  May?   Was  she  all  right?" 

Taylor  laughed  heartily  and  said  that  Aunty  May 
appeared  in  good  health  and  squatted  on  the  brink.  This 
change,  forecasting  a  visit,  made  Bobby  grin. 

"Aunty  May  says  you  need  a  —  a  —  a  —  now,  you 
know  what  Grandpa  Humpy  Bryant  is?" 

"An  editor?" 

"Nope.  What  he  is  for  Bessy  an'  me." 

"He's  your  guardian,  isn't — " 


102  TIMBER 

Tay4or  •  had  interrupted  himself  but  Bobby  took  no 
notice  of  his  queer  smile. 

"That's  what!"  he  cried.  "Garden!  Aunty  May  says 
you  need  one." 

"Oh,  so  Aunty  May  thinks  I  need  a  guardian?" 

"Uh-huh.    She  says  so." 

"What  do  you  think,  Bobby?" 

Thus  confronted  with  a  question,  the  nature  of  which 
was  beyond  him,  the  boy  was  embarrassed. 

"I  don't  fink,"  he  said  and  laughed.  Then,  losing  his 
self -consciousness:  "I'm  like  what  Aunty  May  says  Aunt 
Helen  is:  I  don't  say  somepin  unless  I  fink  somepin.  An' 
when  she  finks  she  says.  That's  what  Aunty  May  says. 
She  only  finks  about  somepin  'portant.  Aunty  May  says. " 

"And  then,  likely,  I'm  not  very  important,  Bobby?" 

Again  the  child  was  beyond  his  depth  and  twisted  his 
fingers. 

"Milt,  he  finks  about  you.  He  says  to  Aunt  Helen 
you're  a  damn  dude — " 

"Oh-h-h-h!"  broke  in  Bessy,  looking  up  at  her  brother, 
who  flushed  quickly.  He  crossed  his  heart  solemnly, 
bending  over  her,  grasping  and  shaking  one  of  her  arms. 
"Honest,  Bessy,  brother  won't  say  it  again.  Honest,  cross 
my  heart!" 

Taylor  sat  down  on  the  bank,  dangling  his  legs  in  the 
yellow  sand. 

"So  Milt  says  I'm  a  dude,  does  he?" 

Bobby  nodded  eagerly.  Here  was  something  he  could 
follow;  and  this  was  becoming  a  deliciously  long  interrup- 
tion to  the  moriiing's  captivity. 

"He  says  that  to  Aunt  Helen  two-free  days  ago.  He 
says   you    a  —  a — ,"  glancing    cautiously  at    Bessy  — 


TIMBER  103 

"a  dude,  an^  you  don't  know  what's  goin'  on  wif  your  logs 
an'  you  let  a  woman  make  money  for  you  —  That's  what 
Milt  says." 

' '  Waf -wog !  waf-wog ! ' '  shrilled  Bessie  as  a  raft  rounded 
the  far  bend. 

The  children  discarded  Taylor,  who  had  served  his 
purpose  with  them  for  that  day.  He  rose  and  went  on, 
and  they  did  not  even  turn  to  wave  farewell. 

''So  I  need  a  guardian  —  and  I'm  a  damned  dude  — 
and  I  don't  know  what  is  going  on  with  my  logs  —  and 
I'm  letting  a  woman  make  money  for  me  — " 

He  looked  up  through  the  pines  and  laughed  ruefully. 

"I'll  be  damned  if  I  don't  have  to  plead  guilty  on  two 
counts!"  he  said.    "And  —  I'm  not  sure  of  the  others." 

Later  he  added: 

"And  she  always  says  what  she  thinks,  and  she  doesn't 
say  anything  about  me.  Therefore,"  making  the  mathe- 
matical symbol  of  deduction  in  the  air  with  a  forefinger, 
"she  doesn't  think  about  me  at  all." 

It  was  that  evening.  Helen  Foraker  was  at  her  desk 
and  looked  up  with  surprise  as  Taylor  entered,  for  it  was 
the  first  time  he  had  been  in  her  house  since  their  business 
agreement. 

"Did  you  ever  stop  to  think,"  he  began  without 
preface,  "that  I  don't  know  much  about  what's  going 
on?" 

"I  have  it  right  here;  the  daily  reports  from  the  mill," 
she  said. 

"Not  that,"  smiling.  "Those  are  your  figures  and 
I'd  like  to  be  able  to  know  whether  they're  right  or  not. 
Not  because  I  doubt  you,  but  because  this  is  my  job. 


104  TIMBER 

Fm  so  ignorant  that  I  don't  know  anything  about  my 
own  business!" 

She  sat  back  in  her  chair. 

"I've  been  wondering  if  you'd  wake  up,"  she  said 
quietly. 

''Wondering!  I  didn't  suppose  you  took  time  to  think 
about  me." 

She  traced  a  line  on  the  blotter  before  her  with  a  dry 
pen. 

"I've  had  lots  of  time  to  think  about  you,  John  Taylor. 
A  lot  of  time  to  wonder  about  you  —  and  not  enough 
time  to  make  up  my  mind.  I've  never  known  many 
kinds  of  people;  I've  never  known  any  one  like  you. 
I  thought  I  sized  you  up  the  first  time  I  saw  you  and  I 
haven't  had  much  evidence  to  change  my  opinion.  Women 
are  supposed  to  have  a  certain  keen  intuition;  perhaps 
we  have;  perhaps  that  has  kept  me  wondering  if  you 
wouldn't  wake  up. 

"Sit  down." 

He  took  a  chair  and  she  folded  her  arms,  looking 
squarely  at  him. 

"Most  people  I  have  known  don't  wonder  about 
themselves  and  so  they  don't  understand  themselves. 
That  morning  when  we  went  to  look  at  your  logs  you 
told  me  more  about  yourself  than  any  —  stranger  ever  has. 
What  you  said  backed  up  my  first  impression,  but  because 
you  said  it  made  me  suspect  that  something  had  given 
you  a  jolt.  Ever  since,  I've  been  wondering  if  you'd 
be  content  to  hang  around  the  edges  and  let  circum- 
stances make  a  boomerang  of  your  father's  trick. " 

She  stopped,  and  Taylor  smiled  gravely. 

"Circumstances?"    he    asked.     "You    mean    you've 


TIMBER  105 

wondered  if  I'd  be  content  to  ride  into  my  father's  good 
opinion  on  your  shoulders!" 

She  protested,  but  he  rose  abruptly  from  his  chair. 

''Yes,  it  is  you!"  he  cried  suddenly  excited.  "What 
prospect  I  have  of  making  a  little  success  here  is  because 
that  drunken  boy  gave  me  the  wrong  turn  at  Seven  Mile 
and  sent  me  here  to  spend  the  first  night  under  your  roof! 
And  it's  you  who  have  made  me  want  to  wake  up.  You 
took  me  with  you  to  Thad  Parker's  that  night  and  I 
looked  death  in  the  face  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  life," 
voice  low  and  growing  tense.  "The  next  day  you  talked 
to  me  about  waste  and  duty  and  Americanism  in  the 
terms  of  saw-logs  and  made  it  more  convincing  than 
any  flag-waving  I've  ever  listened  to.  I've  watched  you 
dominate  men  who  won't  even  accept  me  as  a  companion. 
I've  watched  you  do  things  that  to  you  are  everyday 
accomplishments  which  are  away  beyond  me  — 

"Just  being  here  has  gotten  under  my  skin!  I  didn't 
realize  it  until  today,  but  I've  been  uncomfortable  and 
out  of  place  and  I  haven't  known  why.  Now  I  do  know. 
I'm  thrown  against  a  girl  who  is  doing  things  for  herself 
and  for  me.  You're  making  money  for  me,  you're  winning 
my  father's  favor  for  me,  and  I  don't  like  it!" 

He  paused,  breathing  rapidly,  and  saw  a  look  in  the  girl's 
eyes  that  had  never  been  there  before  when  she  looked 
at  him,  a  vague  shadow  of  admiration,  and  his  heart 
leaped. 

"My  mind  should  be  good  for  a  little  something  — 
Lord  knows  it's  had  preparation  and  rest  enough!  I  have 
a  stout  back  and  strong  hands,"  spreading  his  big,  white 
palms.  "I  want  to  do  things  for  myself,  I  want  to  make 
my  own  money,  to  win  my  father's  good  opinion,  but  I 


106  TIMBER 

don't  know  how  to  use  the  tools  I  have  to  work  with." 

He  stopped  abruptly  and  let  his  hands  fall  limply  to  his 
sides.   Then  he  asked  very  simply: 

"Will  you  teach  me?" 

In  such  a  manner,  the  John  Taylor  who  had  come  to 
the  Blueberry  to  humor  his  father,  that  he  might  win 
wealth  without  soiling  his  great  hands  and  who  had  first 
learned  that  there  is  some  money  from  which  fair-minded 
men  recoil,  reached  the  understanding  that  the  reward  is 
only  one  factor  in  achievement;  in  such  a  manner  the 
John  Taylor,  who  had  been  self-assured  and  self-satisfied 
and  superficial,  humbled  himself,  yet  in  that  deference 
was  nothing  servile,  but  rather  it  had  the  nobility  of 
simplicity  and  frankness;  in  such  a  manner,  the  man  who 
had  set  out  to  find  material  things  which  would  make 
one  woman  happy,  came  to  another  woman  to  find  that 
peace  which  can  come  only  with  respect  of  self. 

Helen's  hands  dropped  to  her  chair  arms  and  a  happy 
flush  spread  over  her  cheeks,  brightening  her  large  eyes. 

"I  will  teach  you  all  I  can,  John  Taylor!"  she  said. 

Like  an  ambitious  boy  on  his  first  job  he  sat  that 
night  while  she  sketched  for  him  the  rudiments  of  what 
he  must  learn  before  he  could  know  what  was  being 
done  for  him.  There  was  talk  of  Schribner  rule  and 
Doyle  rule;  allowance  for  defect,  mill  over-run;  of  costs 
and  markets;  of  lumber  grades  and  transportation,  of 
felling  and  bucking  and  swamping;  of  circular  and  band- 
saws  and  kerf,  of  those  fundamentals  which  he  had 
hoped  to  skip  in  any  business;  talk  of  the  grubbing  he 
had  loathed,  and  this  night  he  did  not  shy  from  it,  but 
questioned  and  listened  and  remembered. 

It  was  late  when  he  rose.    Helen  followed  him  to  the 


TIMBER  107 

door  and  stood  on  the  threshold  looking  out  into  the 
spring  night.  Frogs  sang  and  the  jovial  chorus  of  crickets 
played  above  the  murmurings  of  the  river  and  the  light 
breeze  whispering  in  the  pines.  A  screech  owl  uttered 
its  tremulous  call  not  far  off  and  a  whip-poor-will  cried  in 
the  swamp.  Taylor  looked  up  at  the  girl.  Her  arm  resting 
against  the  casing  was  very  delicate  in  line  but,  silhouetted 
against  the  light,  it  seemed  then  like  a  part  of  some  com- 
petent, dexterous  machine;  her  face  was  mostly  in 
shadow,  but  where  the  lamp  glow  fell  on  one  cheek  was 
an  impression  of  softness,  of  gentleness,  strong  in  its  call 
to  his  senses.  She  was  talking,  but  he  was  imconscious  of 
her  words;  just  heedful  of  the  musical  timbre  of  her  voice. 

His  breath  caught  and  a  strange  creep  went  over  his 
skin.  For  the  first  time  she  was  for  him  a  woman,  a 
female;  she  had  been  an  antagonist,  an  example,  and 
now  she  was  a  girl,  wholly  different  from  any  he  had 
ever  known,  capable,  far-sighted,  keen  of  mind  —  and 
most  lovely!  He  walked  slowly  toward  the  men's  shanty. 
Pauguk  muttered  savagely  from  her  kennel  as  she  caught 
his  scent.  Manifestations  of  the  appeal  which  had 
emanated  from  Helen  went  as  quickly  as  they  had  come, 
but  they  left  him  unsteadied;  that  moment  had  taken 
something  away  —  he  did  not  know  what. 

He  entered  the  bunk  building  where  a  light  still  burned. 
Goddard  was  mending  a  horse  collar  and  looked  up  and  his 
gray  eyes  lighted  unpleasantly,  but  he  did  not  speak. 
Taylor  brought  out  pen  and  paper  and  sat  at  the  table 
beneath  the  hanging  oil  lamp  to  write  to  Marcia  Murray. 
For  a  long  interval  he  was  there;  a  dozen  times  he  started 
forward  and  touched  the  page  with  his  pen,  but  no  mark 
was  made. 


108  TIMBER 

He  did  not  want  to  write  to  Marcia  Murray!  He  could 
not  share  with  her  this  new  enthusiasm  for  the  job  that 
he  was  to  do  with  his  own  mind,  his  own  back,  his  own 
hands!  For  this  night  she  had  no  part  in  his  life;  for 
the  first  time  in  months  he  went  through  those  last 
moments  before  turning  in  without  remembering  the 
sound  of  her  words,  the  feel  of  her  breath  on  his  cheek, 
the  touch  of  her  cool  fingers,  the  steady  look  in  her  clear 
eyes.  Something  had  come  into  his  heart  which  left  no 
place  for  little  Marcia.  Marcia,  the  girl  for  whom  he  had 
braved  his  father^s  vitriolic  scorn,  for  whom  he  had  come 
on  this  distasteful  errand! 

The  others  had  gone  to  their  blankets;  he  rose,  blew 
out  the  lamp  and  went  to  the  door.  A  light  was 
extinguished  in  Helen  Foraker's  room.  He  saw  an  indis- 
tinct figure  appear  at  the  window  and  draw  back  the 
curtains  and  linger  a  moment  and  disappear  —  and 
again  that  delicious  creep  went  over  his  body. 

From  an  indefinite  distance,  a  slow,  accelerating  throb 
beat  upon  the  air,  stout  and  measured  and  progressing  to 
its  gentle  rumble:  the  drumming  of  a  cock  partridge. 
Again  it  came  —  and  again,  as  the  bird,  fevered  with  the 
great  impulse  in  him,  made  the  darkness  pulse  with 
his  love  making.  Very  quietly,  as  though  awed  by  some 
soul-moulding  experience,  Taylor  turned  back  to  his 
bunk;  the  stimulus  did  not  leave  him;  he  tossed  rest- 
lessly, eyes  open,  sleeping  in  brief  snatches  until  dawn; 
he  rose  in  the  new  day,  to  a  new  manner  of  living,  of 
thinking,  to  work  with  Helen  Foraker's  men  and  his  logs, 
to  talk  markets  with  Humphrey  Bryant,  to  sit  evenings 
with  the  girl  and  talk  timber  and  labor  and  board-feet 
and  now  and  then  be  unable  to  hear  even  his  own  words 


TIMBER  109 

because  of  the  blood  that  the  beauty  of  her  face  sent 
crowding  into  his  ears. 

And  so  it  was  that  he  could  write  to  his  father  that 
evening  and  tell  him  briefly  that  he  had  turned  the  stone 
to  bread,  and  that  his  letters  to  Marcia  Murray  from 
thenceforth  were  not  impelled  by  the  urge  which  made 
the  grouse  beat  his  wings  through  the  night,  but  were 
concerned  with  men  and  the  deeds  of  commerce! 


CHAPTER   XI 

Living  as  he  did  within  the  boundaries  of  Foraker's 
Folly,  John  Taylor's  perspective  was  too  close  to  yield  a 
comprehensive  picture  of  the  whole.  He  had  heard  the 
forest  spoken  of  derisively  in  Pancake,  had  heard  men 
of  the  crew  who  worked  in  it  and  about  the  mill  talk 
disparagingly  of  the  property.  But  these  comments  had 
been  standardized,  the  voicing  of  ideas  of  long  standing, 
and  had  contained  no  detail.  It  was  a  foregone  conclusion 
in  the  community  that  the  project  was  the  venture  of  a 
visionary  and  destined  to  fail.  Most  men  found  satis- 
faction in  this  belief.  For  long  ago  they,  or  older  men 
they  respected,  had  forecasted  such  a  calamity. 

Taylor  knew  that  some  of  the  pine  was  cut  each  winter 
but  that  the  trees  taken  out  were  not  harvested  for  their 
own  value  but  for  the  good  that  their  removal  would 
do  those  which  were  left;  cripples,  the  unthrifty  or  the 
light  gluttons  only,  were  taken.  Banks  of  these  still 
flanked  the  mill  which,  before  it  commenced  to  saw  the 
hardwood,  was  busied  making  these  logs  into  thin  box 
lumber  and  lath.  Pulp-wood  bolts  had  been  shipped, 
he  knew,  and  cars  of  small  slabs  and  edging  for  fuel. 
Of  what  was  cut,  there  was  no  waste. 

He  knew  of  the  nursery  behind  the  big  house  where 
seeds  were  taken  from  cones  and  planted  and  the  seedlings 
removed  to  long  furrows  where  they  progressed  a  year 
before  being  transplanted  to  those  places  where  trees 
were  not  thick  enough  on  the  ground.    Black  Joe  had 

110 


TIMBER  111 

charge  of  the  nursery  and  John  had  watched  him  at  his 
work  evenings  and  in  those  days  when  he  was  not  needed 
elsewhere,  had  heard  the  old  fellow  muttering  to  the  baby 
pines  as  he  fussed  over  them  with  pride  and  tenderness. 

As  the  days  grew  fair  and  less  rain  fell  he  learned  of 
the  fear  of  fire.  Beside  Helen's  house  Watch  Pine  reared 
itself,  a  great  old  tree,  five  feet  through  at  the  butt, 
rising  straight  and  true  for  seventy  feet  before  it  flung  its 
tattered  banners  to  the  air,  a  dignified  veteran,  standing 
above  and  guarding  over  that  younger  generation  of  its 
kind.  Beneath  the  branches  a  crow's  nest  had  been  built, 
and  up  the  trunk  was  a  stout  ladder.  On  dry  days  some 
one  was  on  watch  there  through  the  hours  of  daylight, 
scanning  the  forest  and  adjacent  country  with  a  glass 
for  the  smoke  which  would  herald  danger. 

But  these  were  high  points  of  information,  unrelated, 
largely  meaningless. 

It  was  a  few  days  after  his  first  cars  of  lumber  had 
rolled  out  of  the  siding  at  Seven  Mile  that  John  came 
upon  Sim  Burns  in  the  woods.  The  new  supervisor  was 
walking  along  a  fire  line,  note  book  in  hand,  pacing 
carefully  and  counting  trees,  and  did  not  see  Taylor 
until  they  were  close  together. 

^' Hello,  Mr.  Taylor,"  he  said  in  his  harsh  voice,  and 
sniffed.    ''How  are  th'  logs  turnin'  out?" 

"Well  enough,"  John  said. 

"Makin'  up  th'  tax  rolls,"  Bums  volimteered.  "Just 
lookin'  over  this  piece. 

"My  goodness,  but  this  property  has  been  let  off  easy! 
Taxes  on  this'll  come  in  handy  for  roads  an'  a  new  court 
house. " 


112  TIMBER 

''I  suppose  taxes  on  this  stuff  do  run  high." 

''High!  My  goodness,  she  ain't  paid  anything  like  she 
should  have  paid.  You  see,  our  county's  been  run  by 
old  men.  They  never  come  in  here  to  make  their  valua- 
tion. They  told  Foraker  when  he  started  he  couldn't 
grow  timber  as  a  crop;  they've  stuck  to  that  idea.  No 
progress,  Mr.  Taylor,  no  progress.  This  piece  has 
always  been  taxed  just  like  waste  land.  Assessed  for  four 
dollars  an  acre  last  year  an'  look  at  it,"  with  a  wave  of 
his  long,  dirty  hand.  ''I'll  bet  this  piece  right  here'll  go 
twenty  thousand  to  the  acre  right  today!" 

"No!" 

"Sure!  Ask  anybody.  An'  four  dollars  an  acre!  My 
goodness,  it's  worth  twenty-five  dollars  a  thousand 
stumpage  to  any  man.  You  ought  to  be  interested, 
Mr.  Taylor,  now  that  you  are  one  of  our  tax  payers." 

Indeed  John  was  interested,  but  not  because  he  owned 
forty  acres  of  cut-over  land  in  Blueberry  County.  He 
left  Burns  abruptly  and  went  on,  staring  incredulously 
into  the  pine.  Twenty  thousand  to  the  acre,  and  twenty- 
five  dollars  a  thousand  stumpage! 

There  were  ten  thousand  acres  of  pine  here,  he  knew. 
Ten  thousand  times  — 

He  gave  a  whistle  of  amazement.  The  figures  mounted 
dizzily.  He  stopped  dead  still  in  his  tracks.  What  a 
property! 

And  Helen  was  in  a  comer.  He  recalled  the  threat 
of  taxation  that  Burns  had  made  that  first  night,  remem- 
bered Milt  Goddard's  prediction  of  failure  the  next 
morning;  remembered,  also,  the  girl's  words,  as  she  told 
her  foreman  that  the  pinch  was  coming,  that  the  hardest 
time  was  at  hand  for  Foraker's  Folly. 


TIMBER  113 

Why  not?  he  asked  himself.  She  had  helped  him  — 
this  was  a  property  to  stir  the  most  sluggish  of  imagina- 
tions. His  imagination,  his  ambition  was  mounting. 
His  paltry  few  logs  would  be  sawed  within  three  weeks  — 
and  then,  what? 

He  thought  back  to  Old  Luke,  of  how  he  revered  the 
Michigan  forests  which  he  had  subdued;  surely  he  had 
made  his  father  see  that  he  was  not  afraid  to  work,  not 
above  grubbing;  as  surely,  he  felt,  his  father  would  now 
stand  ready  to  back  him  —  would  be  as  willing  to  help 
him  as  he  had  been  ready  to  impose  upon  his  helplessness 
with  a  cruel  practical  joke. 

He  walked  on  slowly,  thinking,  multiplying  and  losing 
his  breath  again  before  the  ascending  totals — **It  will 
help  her,  when  she  needs  help,"  he  told  himself.  *'I  don't 
know  what  she  needs,  just  —  but  —  And  if  I  could  help 
her  there'd  be  no  obligation;  and  with  no  obligation  I 
wouldn't  feel  small  —  and  then,  perhaps — " 

He  stopped  his  thinking  aloud  as  a  flush  came  into 
his  cheeks.  In  his  eyes  was  a  hght  of  ambition  which  had 
nothing  to  do  with  trees  and  logs  and  dollars  and  once 
more  that  creep  went  over  his  body  as  it  had  when  he 
jfirst  heard  the  partridge  drumming  for  his  mate  — 

That  evening  John  wrote  a  second  letter  to  his  father, 
longer,  containing  references  to  detail  that  he  knew  were 
intelligent  references.   The  last  paragraph  read: 

"By  the  way,  how  much  backing  would  you  give 
me  if  I  could  come  to  you  with  a  chance  to  get  behind 
several  thousand  acres  of  Michigan  white  pine  that  will 
go,  say,  twenty  thousand  to  the  acre?  " 

He  sent  that  letter  to  Pancake  by  Goddard  who  took 
it  with  a  surly  nod;  then  John  lighted  his  pipe  and  walked 


114  TIMBER 

the  river^s  bank  to  dream  and  see  rising  before  him  a 
future  of  incredible  glory  — 

Little  did  he  reckon  the  fires  of  avarice  that  would  be 
lighted  by  what  he  had  written,  the  thwarted  impulses 
which  would  be  touched  to  life  again!  Little  did  he  dream 
of  the  misery  that  would  follow  in  its  wake,  of  the  heart- 
sickness,  the  desperation,  the  regret.  He  could  not  see 
himself  friendless,  caught  in  a  net  of  chicanery  and  ruthless 
plotting,  with  the  joy  of  this  night  wiped  out  by  the 
unhappiness  that  was  to  come! 


CHAPTER   XII 

It  was  Sunday,  on  a  clear,  still,  June  morning.  The 
men's  shanty  was  deserted,  the  mill  silent,  the  teams  at 
White's  camp  stamping  lazily  in  the  stable. 

The  world  was  a  glory  of  vivid  life.  All  about  growth 
had  replaced  the  dormant  grayness  which  had  prevailed 
when  John  Taylor  arrived  in  the  country.  Out  on  the 
plains  June  grass  blades  of  heavy  green  had  hidden  the 
tufts  of  last  season's  dead  stalks;  brakes  thrust  their 
tender,  curled  fronds  through  the  moss,  and  sweet-fern 
and  sedge,  those  useless  growths  of  the  barrens,  were, 
for  the  fortnight,  things  of  beauty.  Aspens  and  birch 
were  in  tremulous  leaf,  oak  and  maple  had  burst  from 
their  maroon  buds  and  flaunted  polished  foHage  to  the 
sun.  Within  the  forest  the  pines  were  stirring,  terminal 
buds  had  opened  and  new,  hght  needles  were  stretching 
for  air  and  light.  A  company  of  birds  made  the  somber 
shadows  joyous  and  the  Blueberry,  wandering  through 
the  forest,  sped  crystal  clear  over  golden  sand  or  dark 
depths,  reflecting  the  graceful  ranks  of  spruce  and  balsam 
which  edged  it,  taking  on  a  border  of  luscious  green  where 
reeds  shot  through  the  surface. 

Over  on  the  Au  Sable,  forty  miles  away,  Marcia  Murray 
and  a  dozen  or  more  of  Taylor's  Detroit  friends  were 
gathered  at  Dick  Mason's  Windigo  Lodge  for  one  of  the 
protracted  house  parties  which  had  given  the  place  a 
name.   John  had  half  promised  Marcia  that  he  would  be 

115 


116  TIMBER 

there  for  the  first  Sunday,  but  somehow  his  interest  in 
her  was  steadily  waning.  He  was  unconscious  of  change 
until  some  necessity  for  decision  brought  it  home  to  him, 
as  on  that  first  night  when  he  had  no  interest  in  a  letter 
to  her,  as  on  other  nights  which  followed  when  he  could 
write  only  of  himself  and  his  job,  and  on  those  rare  occasions 
when  he  could  not  even  bring  out  his  writing  materials. 
He  had  believed  that  he  was  as  eager  to  see  her  as  he 
ever  had  been,  but  while  he  planned  the  trip  across 
country  he  had  half  consciously  sought  an  excuse  which 
would  keep  him  in  the  forest,  and  when  a  man  who 
wanted  his  hemlock  bark  telephoned  that  he  would  come 
to  the  mill  at  Seven  Mile  soon,  John  interpreted  that 
*'soon"  to  suit  his  own  strongest  desires.  He  would  wait 
over  Sunday  for  the  buyer,  and  all  the  time  he  secretly 
hoped  the  man  would  not  show  up,  that  he  would  have 
the  day  to  himself  —  and  that  he  might  see  something 
of  Helen  Foraker  when  her  eyes  were  not  on  the  men  who 
worked  for  her  and  her  mind  not  on  the  forest  or  his  logs  — 

In  such  a  subtle  manner  the  change  crept  through  him. 
He  told  himself  that  he  was  as  fond  of  Marcia  as  ever, 
told  himself  that,  but  a  voice  deep  in  his  heart  soberly, 
steadily  denied  —  and  when  on  this  Sabbath  morning  of 
gold  and  blue  and  green  he  thought  of  the  Marcia  he  was 
not  to  see  that  day,  slender,  small,  cool  Marcia  Murray, 
she  seemed  to  him  peculiary  unsatisfactory  and  inconse- 
quential. 

This  was  the  first  time  he  had  not  reacted  to  her  without 
at  least  a  superficial  thrill  and  the  reaUzation  was  some- 
thing of  a  shock.  He  had  come  to  the  Blueberry  to  find 
easy  money;  he  had  chosen  to  discard  the  easy  way  and 
help  produce  his  own  wealth.   He  had  gone  that  far  from 


TIMBER  117 

the  reasonable  creature  he  had  been  and  he  had  gone  as 
far,  perhaps  farther,  in  his  very  impulses! 

On  the  river  bank  near  the  house  Helen  sat  with  Bobby 
and  Bessy  Kildare.  Pauguk,  freed  from  her  kennel,  was 
chained  to  a  stump,  nose  between  her  paws,  orange  eyes 
on  the  face  of  her  mistress  as  Helen  talked  to  the  children. 

John  approached  slowly.  The  wolf  dog  turned  and 
muttered  under  her  breath,  throwing  a  venomous  glance 
at  him,  but  Helen  was  occupied  with  Bobby  and  did  not 
notice. 

"Look!"  she  cried  suddenly,  indicating  a  flitting  bird. 
"What  is  it?" 

The  boy  looked  sharply. 

"Fly-catcher,"  he  said.  "Olive-sided  fly-catcher!" 
very  positive  in  tone,  but  his  eyes  searched  hers  with 
query. 

"Are  you  sure?    Listen!" 

The  bird  had  lighted  in  a  tree  and  his  thin,  plaintive 
see-a-wee  floated  out  over  the  river. 

Bobby  laughed.  "Nope!  Wood  peewee,"  he  said  and 
showed  confusion  for  his  cocksureness  of  the  moment 
before. 

"And  what  does  the  olive  fly-catcher  say?" 

"This, "  puckering  his  small  lips  and  whistling  a  hip-pee- 
wee.  "Like  the  pipin^  plover,"  he  added  and  laughed  in 
delight  at  her  smiling  nod  of  favor. 

"There's  another  bird!   See  him,  Bobby?" 

"He's  easy!  He's  a  flicker.  An'  there's  a  whiskey  jack! 
See  him  lookin'  for  scraps?" 

He  pointed  excitedly  to  the  jay  near  the  kitchen  door. 

"I  seen  a  pine  finch  today,  too.  I  knowed  him  because 
he  liad  yellow  only  on  his  wings  an'  tail." 


118  TIMBER 

**You  what?   And  you  knowed!'' 

"I  saw  him,  and  I  knew  him/'  Bobby  answered  slowly, 
much  abashed. 

There  was  perspiration  on  his  lip  and  the  hair  about 
his  temples  was  damp;  the  vigorous  color  of  his  cheeks 
was  stained  by  the  flush  which  followed  her  correction, 
and  he  swallowed  with  his  small  soft  throat  in  such  a  way 
that  she  leaned  forward  and  dragged  him  close  to  her, 
stroking  his  head,  laughing  to  cover  the  tenderness  in 
her  eyes. 

Aunty  May  appeared  in  the  doorway  and  called  the 
children.  Bessy  started  at  once,  waddling  on  her  shapeless 
little  legs,  but  the  boy  lingered  and  said: 

^'I  try  to  learn  the  things  you  teach  me,  Aunt  Helen. 
If  I  learn  as  much  as  you  do,  will  you  marry  me  when  I 
grow  up?" 

*'0h,  Bobby,  if  you're  as  nice  a  man  as  you  are  a  little 
boy,  if  you  try  to  learn  always,  if  you  are  as  kind  then 
as  you  are  now,  you'd  make  any  girl  happy. " 

"But  you!"  slapping  her  knee  insistently  and  looking 
into  her  face  with  a  frown  which  told  that  he  would  not 
be  put  off.    "Not  any  girl!   You!" 

"I'll  be  an  old  woman,  then.  But  if  I  should  ever  have 
a  little  girl  I  don't  know  any  boy  I'd  like  to  have  her 
love  except  you." 

Bobby  eyed  her  with  sober  skepticism  a  moment  and 
started  away  complaining: 

"But  you  won't  ever  promise!^' 

Taylor  had  approached,  overheard  and  watched, 
struck  by  the  quality  that  was  in  the  girl's  face  and  voice 
and  manner  as  she  talked  with  the  child;  a  tenderness 
was  there,  a  strength  of  maternal  feeling  that  he  had 


TIMBER  119 

never  seen  reflected  in  the  face  of  any  girl  before ;  perhaps 
it  had  been  in  others  and  escaped  his  notice,  but,  as  he 
stood  there  watching  Bobby  go  and  listening  to  Helen's 
casual  comment  on  the  glory  of  the  day,  he  was  thinking 
this:  That  the  face  of  Marcia  Murray  would  never 
yield  itself  to  a  look  like  that. 

He  sat  down  beside  her  and  drew  lightly  on  his  pipe. 
Against  the  far  bank  a  trout  was  feeding,  breaking  the 
velvet  surface  of  the  pool  by  his  frisky  rises. 

"So  I'm  not  the  only  one  who  learns  things  from  you," 
he  said  watching  for  the  fish.  She  laughed  disparagingly 
and  said  something  about  having  little  to  teach.  *'0h,  no! 
Don't  say  that,"  he  interrupted.  ''You  have  everything 
to  teach  children  and  —  men.  Do  all  boys  who  learn 
things  from  you  want  to  marry  you  —  when  they've 
learned  enough?" 

She  mistook  his  gravity  for  a  form  of  banter  and 
laughed   in   protest. 

''Don't  laugh,"  he  said,  and  then  leaning  forward 
impulsively:  "Maybe  I'm  not  so  different  from  other 
boys  who  learn  things  from  you  —  and  want  to  learn 
more  so  they — " 

A  flush  rushed  into  her  cheeks,  the  first  he  had  seen 
there,  the  first  time  he  had  seen  her  unpoised;  it  startled 
him,  and  her  brown  eyes,  very  wide,  fast  on  his,  startled 
him  also  and  for  a  moment  they  sat  there,  staring  at  one 
another  while  words  surged  upward  to  the  man's  lips  — 

And  then  a  house  wren,  perched  in  a  pine,  tail  at 
its  pert  angle,  began  his  breathless  spring  song;  the  notes 
poured  from  his  throat,  fast  and  faster,  liquid  and  mellow 
and  infinitely  lovely,  and  he  twitched  his  tail  and  darted 
his  small  head  and  moved  his  feet  on  the  branch  as  though 


120  TIMBER 

the  thing  he  had  to  say  could  not  be  stayed,  as  though 
he  must  cram  those  precious  seconds  with  his  love- 
making  — 

Helen  looked  away  and  Taylor  put  the  pipe  stem 
between  his  teeth,  relaxing,  confused  by  what  he  had  said, 
confused  as  well  by  the  love  song  of  the  bird  who  had  put 
into  music  the  words  that  frothed  to  his  lips  and  which 
he  did  not  have  the  courage  to  speak  —  nor  the  right  to 
speak,  he  suddenly  remembered,  and  stirred  uncomfort- 
ably. 

Embarrassment  held  them  mute  until  Pauguk,  who 
had  watched  John  ceaselessly,  moved  against  her  chain 
and  muttered  a  threat. 

**The  men  tell  me  you  raised  her  from  a  pup,"  he  said, 
because  he  felt  that  he  must  say  something  and  this  was 
all  he  could  think  to  say. 

Helen  stretched  her  hand  toward  the  dog. 

''She  must  have  been  a  month  old  when  I  took  her. 
A  collie  of  ours  went  wild  and  disappeared  and  was  gone 
a  year;  men  kept  telling  my  father  that  they  had  seen  her 
with  the  last  wolf  that  was  left  in  this  country.  Father 
didn't  believe  it  until  we  found  her  in  one  of  Black  Joe's 
traps.  The  puppy  was  by  her;  they'd  been  traveling 
evidently. 

"Joe  killed  the  dog  —  she  was  very  dangerous  then  — 
and  brought  the  pup  in  to  show  us.  They  were  all  for  kill- 
ing her,  but  somehow  the  little  thing,  backed  in  a  corner, 
ready  to  fight  with  its  milk  teeth,  seemed  so  pathetic  and 
helpless  and  courageous  that  I  couldn't  let  them  —  Too, 
I  thought  it  would  be  quite  a  triumph  to  make  her  my 
friend.   It  was;  and  a  very  hard  job." 

''You  like  to  do  the  difficult  things." 


TIMBER  121 

^'Perhaps.  That  is  vanity.  Nothing  that  is  easy  seems 
worth  while." 

He  watched  the  trout  rising  and  smoked  thoughtfully. 
"Is  that  why  you  buried  yourself  here  in  this  forest? 
Because  it  is  hard?" 

''I  haven't  buried  myself.'  I  belong  to  it.  I'm  a  part 
of  it." 

"And  you've  never  wanted  anything  else?" 

"I've  never  had  the  time." 

"It  satisfied  all  your  impulses?" 

"  No.  Not  all.  What  aren't  satisfied  will  have  to  wait  — 
a  while. " 

Pause.  Helen's  mind  was  not  wholly  on  what  she  had 
been  saying;  the  flush  still  lingered  in  her  cheeks  and 
she  did  not  look  at  Taylor.  The  pause  grew  to  a  moment 
of  silence  and  then,  as  though  to  overcome  the  confusion 
that  he  had  put  upon  her,  or  as  if  fearful  that  he  would 
commence  again  where  the  wren  had  ended,  she  began: 

"My  father  used  to  say  that  want  was  entirely  a  matter 
of  environment.  This  has  been  my  environment,  so  I've 
never  wanted  anything  very  strongly  that  couldn't  be 
had  here.  I  was  born  here.  I  grew  up  along  with  the 
trees,  though  most  of  them  had  a  big  start  on  me.  I  never 
knew  my  mother.  I  never  knew  many  people  except  my 
father,  and  those  few  men  who  came  here  because  they 
were  interested  in  —  my  environment.  I  think  my  father 
would  rather  I'd  been  a  boy.  He  never  said  that;  he  was 
very  kind.  But  he  trained  me  as  he  would  have  trained  a 
boy. 

"I  ramble,"  she  said  laughing  and  more  at  ease. 

"No  —  please  tell  me  about  him.  I've  been  here 
weeks  and  I  know  nothing  about  this  forest  he  started. 


122  TIMBER 

I  think  your  father  must  have  been  a  remarkable  man." 

''He  was  —  in  many  ways.  When  I  knew  him,  though, 
his  Hfe  revolved  around  one  thing:  this  forest.  Reforest- 
ation was  a  religion  with  him,  land  economics  his  theology. 
He  infected  everybody  who  came  near  him  with  that 
religion  —  that  is,  all  who  were  intelligent  enough  to 
understand.  I  was  down  with  the  disease  before  I  could 
wholly  comprehend.  I  played  with  baby  trees  instead 
of  dolls;  I  planted  tiny  forests  of  my  own  instead  of 
keeping  playhouse;  I  learned  to  fight  fire  before  I  learned 
to  sew.  I  put  in  the  years  learning  log  scales  that  most 
girls  spend  learning  scales  oh  a  piano.  When  I  could  read 
I  read  books  on  silviculture  instead  of  stories;  I  knew 
more  about  chemistry  that  I  did  about  clothes;  more 
about  soil  than  I  did  about  boys. 

''You  see,  we  were  a  sort  of  joke  in  this  community 
and  had  to  be  quite  self-sufficient.  After  I  was  more  than 
a  little  girl  we  stayed  here  always  because  we  were  too 
poor  to  get  out.  The  first  years  took  all  my  father's 
money;  then  came  debt,  and  he  was  very  conscientious. 
We  never  went  anywhere  to  meet  people;  they  came 
here :  teachers  of  forestry,  foresters  from  Europe. 

"And  then  when  my  father  died  I  didn't  have  time  to 
feel  the  shock  or  to  be  lonely  because  responsibility  all 
came  on  me,  so  the  other  things  I  might  want  to  do  have 
had  to  wait." 

"A  big  burden!" 

She  shook  her  head.  "Not  a  burden,  unless  the  urge 
to  paint  a  great  picture  or  write  a  great  book  is  a  burden. 
It's  something  bigger  than  you  are;  one  is  helpless  before 
an  ideal. " 

"But  now  that  youVe  put  it  over  — " 


TIMBER  123 

"Put  it  over?  Oh,  no!"  shaking  her  head  slowly.  "No, 
not  yet." 

"You  have  grown  a  forest."         _ 

"That's  only  a  part.  It  is  all  Foraker's  Folly  for  most 
people  and  the  end  is  to  make  all  people  understand 
that  —  Foolish  Foraker  was  not  foolish. " 

"I  see,"  he  said  vaguely. 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  do?"  Pause.  "I'm  not. 
You're  too  young, "  flushing  slightly  again,  "in  experience, 
I  mean.  You're  only  weeks  old  in  this;  some  men  are 
life  old  in  the  same  experience  and  they  won't  see. 

"It's  not  this  tract,  not  these  few  thousand  acres  my 
father  wanted  men  to  see.  It's  something  else :  he  wanted 
to  show  what  all  this  land  might  be  that  they  call  waste 
land,  that  they  look  on  as  a  burden  and  an  eye-sore. 
Those  plains  down  the  river  are  useless  now;  they  are  a 
burden  and  horrible  to  look  at.  It's  not  the  fault  of  the 
land;   it's  the  fault  of  men." 

She  sat  up  and  her  manner  became  a  bit  more  vehement. 

"Did  you  see  Louvain?" 

"No.   But  I  got  to  Rheims." 

"Do  you  see  any  parallel?  No  —  of  course  you  don't. 
You  don't  see  the  heel  of  the  Hun  on  these  pine  barrens. 
You  don't  visualize  the  devastator,  the  leveler  of  all  that 
was  beautiful  and  useful.  Oh,  we  were  Prussians,  we 
Americans!  We  were  ruthless,  heedless.  All  we  saw  was 
forests  and  a  market  for  their  products,  so  we  butchered. 
We  only  saw  the  hour,  only  thought  about  personal  gain. 
It  wasn't  the  conscious  Prussian,  the  deliberate 
destroyer;  it  was  the  Hun  in  our  hearts,  the  spirit  of  the 
age :  thoughtless  youth,  my  father  used  to  say.  Our  pine 
went  out  to  build  the  country  where  cheap  lumber  for 


124  TIMBER 

cities  was  needed.  They  stripped  the  forests  so  a  country 
might  grow,  just  as  the  Prussian  needed  to  grow  and 
would  grow  quickly  at  the  cost  of  his  own  future,  even. " 

Taylor  watched  her  closely  and  she  saw  the  bewilder- 
ment in  his  face. 

''Your  father  cut  millions  of  feet  of  this  pine;  he 
bought  it  and  paid  for  it  and  his  energy  made  it  into 
homes.  But  it  was  his  fortune  that  was  made,  too,  and  it 
was  his  men  who  left  these  barrens  behind;  and  their 
children  are  living  in  a  country  spotted  with  great  acres 
of  waste  land,  and  his  grandchildren  will  face  a 
timber  famine.  Do  you  know  that  in  Michigan  there 
are  millions  of  acres  which  are  considered  useless  for  all 
time?  And  not  only  in  Michigan,  but  in  all  the  Lake 
States;  in  New  England,  in  the  South,  in  the  West. 

"There's  over  a  quarter  billion  acres  of  land  that  once 
grew  forest  which  now  lie  idle  between  the  two  oceans. 
A  lot  of  it  can  never  be  farmed  or  grazed,  but  in  that  lies 
our  national  future.  Logs,  lumber,  forest  products  are 
the  foundation  of  national  life!  Ties  for  railroads,  and 
charcoal  to  make  the  iron  that  goes  into  equipment; 
timbers  for  the  mines  that  yield  coal  for  the  locomotives 
and  metals  for  every  use.  The  shoes  you  wear  were 
probably  tanned  with  oak  bark.  Your  necktie  is  silk, 
probably  artificial  silk,  made  from  spruce  pulp.  The  cloth 
in  your  coat  was  woven  in  wooden  looms  with  a  dog-wood 
shuttle;  the  pencil  in  your  pocket  is  made  from  Tennessee 
juniper,  likely,  and  the  note  book  behind  it  came  from 
northern  spruce  and  balsam." 

She  watched  a  swamp  sparrow  perch  for  a  moment  on 
the  telephone  wire  near  her  house. 

''Take  the  telephone:    Again,  your  mine  timbers  to 


TIMBER  125 

get  the  copper,  the  converter  poles  in  the  smelter  where 
the  ore  was  reduced,  the  poles  under  the  wu-es,  the  paper 
around  the  wires  in  the  underground  cables  of  your  own 
city,  the  wooden  desk  for  the  instrument,  the  turpentine 
in  its  varnish  and  even  the  rubber  mouthpiece  you  talk 
into  and  the  rubber  receiver  came  from  the  trees! 

"Civilization  can't  make  a  move  without  using  forest 
products  and  our  forests  are  going  and  we  are  doing 
nothing  with  our  billions  of  acres  of  idle  land  that  once 
grew  forests.  This  land  that  is  waste  is  waste  in  the 
worst  sense.  It  won't  grow  food  crops,  won't  fatten  cattle 
or  sheep,  but  it  will  grow  timber!"  She  waved  her  hand 
downstream  toward  the  miles  of  desolation  that  stretched 
between  them  and  Pancake. 

"And  while  we  are  turning  our  backs  on  it,  our  supply 
of  wood  is  shutting  down.  National  forests?  They're 
remote;  much  of  their  area  is  inaccessible.  They  give 
us  only  three  per  cent  of  the  timber  we  use  now.  The 
men  that  own  virgin  forest  are  butchering  and  have  a 
leg  to  stand  on  because  there  are  other  men  like  Sim 
Bums  using  taxation  as  a  goad.  We've  torn  down  and 
we  have  not  rebuilt.  We  can  build,  and  that  was  my 
father's  idea;  to  show  that  we  can  create  as  fast  as  we 
destroy. 

"Less  than  fifty  years  ago  this  land  was  stripped  of 
its  pine;  today  it  is  maturing  another  crop.  The  same 
could  have  been  done  with  any  other  piece  that  grew 
good  trees:  Just  keep  the  fire  out  and  nature  would 
have  done  much  in  time.  Fire,  fire,  fire,  without  end! 
Every  summer  it  eats  across  the  plains  country;  every 
summer  it  does  its  damage  on  cutover  lands  in  all  the 
timber  States.    It  not  only  destroys  trees,  but  it  takes 


126  TIMBER 

the  seed  bearers  and  the  seeds  that  lie  ready  to  sprout 
and  the  Hfe  of  the  soil  itself. 

*'To  exist  as  a  nation,  we  must  have  forests;  to  have 
forests  all  we  need  to  do  for  a  beginning  is  to  give  this 
worthless  land  a  chance.  We  can  speed  up  its  work  by- 
helping  —  by  keeping  out  fire,  by  planting  trees  by  good 
forest  practice.  Can't  you  see  all  these  Michigan  plains 
growing  pine  again?  And  in  Wisconsin  and  Minnesota, 
Pennsylvania  and  New  England,  the  South,  and  every- 
where where  hills  and  valleys  have  become  blackened 
eyesores?  Don't  you  see  what  it  would  mean  to  people, 
not  only  in  cheaper  homes  and  steel  and  railroads,  but 
something  else?  Fish  and  game  and  a  chance  to  play  as 
men  were  intended  to  play!  It  is  so  simple  to  do;  to 
show  people  that  it  is  simple  is  such  a  task!" 

She  stopped  with  a  smile  and  Taylor  rapped  the  ash 
from  his  pipe. 

^'That's  a  head-full,"  he  said  soberly. 

Helen  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"I'm  glad  I  don't  bore  you,"  she  said.  ''There  are  few 
people  who  will  listen,  few  who  realize  their  dependence 
on  forests." 

''But  they  must  listen  to  you,  now.  You've  succeeded. " 

"I  have  only  commenced.  You  can  grow  the  trees 
and  that  will  satisfy  the  people  who  love  trees.  Sentiment 
doesn't  get  far;  it's  necessary  to  show  profit.  Is  reforest- 
ation an  economic  possibility?  men  will  ask.  That  is 
the  question  to  answer." 

"But  you  have!    Look  at  what  you  have  produced!" 

Again  she  shook  her  head. 

"There  are  trees,  yes,  but  think  what  it  has  cost  to 
grow  them." 


TIMBER  127 

''Cost?  Of  course  it  cost,  but  you  began  with  such  a 
little  capital.   Your  land  must  have  been  so  cheap." 

She  shrugged. 

''My  father  was  impractical.  His  first  costs  were  away 
higher  than  necessary.  Compounding  interest  will  double 
the  investment  in  your  land  every  ten  years,  remember; 
some  years  it  has  cost  nearly  fifty  cents  an  acre  to  keep 
the  fires  out,  and  there  are  ten  thousand  acres  of  pine 
here.  We  have  almost  a  hundred  miles  of  fire  lines  that 
cost  a  lot  of  money,  and  those  are  only  the  big  items. 
There's  replanting  and  a  hundred  other  things. 

"For  twenty  years  there  was  no  income  except  from 
the  scattering  Norway  pine  which  wasn't  good  enough 
to  take  when  the  first  loggers  went  through  here.  After 
twenty  years  the  young  trees  were  beginning  to  crowd 
and  slowing  down  growth,  but  thinning  cost  money 
and  there  was  no  return  from  it  then.  Meanwhile  debts 
piled  up  and  interest  went  marching  on. 

"The  value  of  stumpage  went  marching  on,  too,  which 
saved  us.  It  is  high  now;  lumber  is  higher  than  it  will 
be  six  months  from  now,  but  it  won't  drop  back  to  where 
it  was  before  the  war  to  stay.  Never  again,  because  the 
forests  aren't  here.  The  cut  of  Southern  pine  has  passed 
its  peak  —  did  ten  years  ago;  it  will  dwindle  and  then 
all  that  America  has  left  will  be  the  forests  of  the  Pacific 
Northwest. 

"Enough  there  to  last  forever?  No.  They  said  that 
of  New  England;  they  said  that  of  Pennsylvania  and 
New  York;  they  said  it  of  the  Lake  States.  Your  father 
must  have  said  it:  that  there  was  enough  pine  in  Michigan 
to  last  forever.  All  those  men  believed  that  except  my 
father  and  when  they'd  cut  thirty  years  there  was  no 


128  TIMBER 

Lake  State  pine;  so  they  went  south,  where  they  thought 
there  was  enough  to  last  forever  —  and  those  forests  will 
go  out  with  our  generation. 

''In  the  woods  when  a  saw  gang  has  cut  into  a  tree 
until  it  commences  to  sag  and  snap  they  stand  back  and 
cry  'Timber!'  It  is  the  warning  cry  of  the  woods;  it 
means  that  trees  are  coming  down,  that  men  within  range 
should  stand  clear.  My  father  used  to  say  that  the  cry 
of  'Timber!'  was  ringing  in  the  country's  ears,  that  the 
loggers  had  given  the  warning,  that  the  last  of  our  trees 
were  commencing  to  fall  —  but  we  haven't  heard !  Our 
ears  are  shut  to  the  cry,  our  backs  are  turned  and  unless 
we  look  sharp  we'll  be  caught!  " 

She  paused  a  moment  and  lifted  a  hand  and  let  it  fall. 

"We're  caught  now,"  she  said.  "It's  too  late  to  grow 
enough  in  time  to  avoid  the  hurt.  There  will  be  a  shortage; 
there  is  now  over  great  regions,  and  it  will  be  worse  before 
you  and  I  have  lived  a  normal  lifetime,  in  spite  of  all 
that  men  can  do.  A  few  years  more  of  doing  nothing 
and  the  pinch  will  hurt,  hurt,  John  Taylor!  Roosevelt  said 
it  again  and  again,  ten  years  ago;  other  men  have  said 
it;  government  departments  have  said  it  officially.  Think 
of  Michigan,  a  great  timber-growing  state  with  millions  of 
acres  that  will  never  grow  anything  else,  paying  millions 
of  dollars  every  year  in  freight  bills  on  lumber !  And  your 
father  probably  said  that  there  was  enough-pine  here  to  last 
the  country  forever !  We  can  make  good  a  grain  shortage  in 
less  than  a  year;  we  can  overcome  a  meat  shortage  in  three 
or  four  seasons,  but  you  can't  hurry  timber.  It  needs 
fifty  to  a  hundred  years  to  reproduce  itself  and  nothing 
that  men  know  about  can  hurry  it  —  and  men  are  doing 
nothing  adequate  now, this  year, this  spring,  this  morning!" 


TIMBER  129 

Taylor  had  a  flashing  memory  of  old  Luke,  staring  at 
a  white  moon  through  the  plume  of  a  yellow  pine,  a 
counterfeit  pine,  longing  for  Michigan  forests  again, 
hopeless  and  cynical.  And  he  looked  at  this  girl,  sitting 
up  cross-legged  now,  gazing  at  the  river,  cheeks  glowing, 
eyes  far  away,  and  he  remembered  that  Humphrey 
Bryant  had  said  of  her  —  that  in  her  heart  was  something 
of  Joan  of  Arc,  of  Catharine  of  Russia,  and  something  of 
the  Blessed  Damosel  — 

She  looked  back  at  him  and  went  on. 

''That  has  helped  my  forest  —  the  available  supply 
pinching  down.  We've  gotten  along  somehow  with  box 
lumber  and  lath  and  pulp  wood  from  our  thinnings,  but 
the  pinch  is  coming  and  we  are  not  ready  to  cut  now. 
We  could  cut,  we  could  make  money,  but  it  would  prove 
only  half  the  argument.  My  father's  whole  object  was 
to  get  his  capital  turning  its  full  interest  return  each 
year  and  then  to  take  that  interest  while  maintaining 
the  capital — not  eating  it  up,  not  making  the  forest 
a  temporary  property.  It's  in  the  waiting  period  now, 
just  as  a  fruit  grower  is  with  a  young  orchard.  Our 
thinnings  and  their  income  are  like  the  first  few  apples 
or  cherries,  just  enough  to  stall  off  some  of  the  interest 
accumulations.  The  fruit  grower  realizes  on  the  increasing 
bearing  area  of  the  trees ;  we  realize  on  the  quality  growth 
of  these  pines  and  the  climbing  lumber  values. 

'Toraker's  Folly  is  at  the  tiu"ning  point.  The  value  of 
the  standing  timber  is  commencing  to  overtake  the  interest 
which  has  been  compounding  away  all  these  years,  but 
neither  the  timber  nor  the  investment  is  quite  ripe. 
To  cut  now  would  be  to  over-cut  the  rate  of  growth, 
but  in  a  few  years,  a  ver>'  few  years,  we  can  harvest  a 


130  TIMBER 

part  of  what  is  here  and  that  part  will  about  equal  the 
growth  on  the  rest  of  the  tract;  it  will  take  care  of  all 
the  investment,  cover  all  these  years  of  compounding 
interest,  and  show  that  the  forest  is  a  sound,  going,  money- 
making  venture,  that  it  can  go  on  forever,  that  there 
will  always  be  something  to  cut,  that  there  will  always 
be  white  pine  here,  that  there  never  will  be  useless  red-oak 
brush  and  gnarled  poplar,  blackened  snags,  lifeless  soil, 
and  Thad  Parkers  and  Jim  Harrises! 

"That  is  what  my  father  started  to  prove  and  they 
called  him  Foolish  Foraker  —  and  I  loved  my  father,  I 
believe  in  him  —  and  I  want  men  to  believe  in  him  as 
I  do!" 

She  stopped,  breathing  rapidly.  Taylor  was  thrilled, 
stirred  by  her  enthusiasm,  by  the  glow  of  a  crusader  which 
was  in  her  eyes  and  for  a  moment  he  looked  into  her  face 
with  a  feeling  of  reverence  —  and  then  he  saw  her  as  a 
girl  again,  laughed  at,  whispered  about  by  foul-mouthed 
yokels,  fighting  stupidity  and  small-minded  men! 

"A  terrible  load  for  you!"  he  muttered.  ''Why  — 
Why  doesn't  the  State  do  this?   Isn't  it  the  State's  job?" 

She  smiled  tolerantly. 

"My  father  used  to  say  that  in  the  history  of  civiliza- 
tion every  just  function  of  the  State  has  followed  individual 
enterprise.  The  State  is  thick-headed.  It  is  the  individual 
who  lightens  burdens,  the  individual  who  blazes  the 
way  that  States  may  follow  —  and  as  for  Lansing!" 
she  laughed  sadly.  "Waste  land  has  meant  only  a  page 
of  tabulated  figures  to  most  men  there! 

"My  father  used  to  say  that  we  had  an  over-supply  of 
office  holders  and  a  shortage  of  leaders.  Michigan  has 
done  a  lot,  comparatively;  we  have  state  forests  that  are 


TIMBER  131 

almost  models  in  some  ways,  we  handle  our  fires  better 
than  lots  of  other  states,  but,  much  as  we've  done,  we 
haven't  scratched  the  possibilities  or  made  more  than  a 
feeble  step  in  meeting  a  necessary  problem. 

^  Of  course,  it's  a  job  for  the  state.  Everything,  loca- 
tion, soil,  climate,  circumstances,  favored  this  forest  or 
it  never  would  have  had  a  chance  of  proving  out.  It 
was  the  one  place  in  ten  thousand  where  one  person  had 
even  a  chance  of  success.  Individuals  can't  do  the  job 
for  the  country.  It  will  take  the  state  —  the  big  state  — 
the  federal  government,  not  twenty  or  thirty  little  govern- 
ments fussing  inadequately  with  a  problem  that  involves 
all  of  us. 

*'And  it  needs  men  who  can  think  and  will  think;  who 
are  men  of  action  and  not  afraid  of  action.  Not  a  crowd 
whose  virtues  are  mostly  negative!" 

''And  how  much  longer,"  he  asked,  'Vill  you  have  to 
carry  on?" 

She  shook  her  head  rather  wearily.  "That  depends 
on  markets,  o;i  demand.  Three,  four  —  maybe  a  half 
dozen  years." 

"But  what  about  — Sim  Burns?" 

A  shadow  fell  across  her  features. 

"I  don't  know.  Humphrey  Bryant  is  the  rock  on 
which  IVe  stood  in  trouble.  He  has  worked  for  years  to 
change  the  timber  tax  laws  so  that  ventures  like  this  will 
not  be  driven  to  the  wall.  He  has  worked  —  he  is  still 
working.   Without  him  there  would  be  no  chance  — 

"Oh,  for  the  present,  anyhow,  I'm  at  their  mercy!" 
She  said  that  rather  desperately  and  rose  abruptly  as 
though  the  fact  excited  her.  "But  we'll  try  to  keep  on, 
we'll  try  to  keep  going  — *' 


132  TIMBER 

She  took  Pauguk  back  to  her  kennel  and  Taylor  started 
away  through  the  forest.  Until  dark  he  walked  and  came 
out  at  the  mill,  ate  with  Raymer,  the  mill  foreman, 
smoked  and  started  back  through  the  night  and  the 
forest. 

The  gash  of  the  fire  line  let  down  the  light  from  an 
avenue  of  stars  to  give  the  road  beneath  his  feet  a  grayness 
in  the  fiat  black  which  was  all  about.  No  individual 
trees  were  discernible;  here  and  there  against  the  sky 
could  be  seen  the  motionless  reach  of  tufted  limb  but 
on  either  side  the  pine  was  an  unbroken  wall,  silent, 
motionless  —  And  yet  as  he  went  through  it  that  forest 
seemed  to  have  the  powers  of  speech  and  motion,  for 
Helen  Foraker  had  breathed  life  into  it  that  day  for  him. 
It  was  no  more  fleshless,  no  more  without  consciousness 
for  him  than  would  have  been  a  company  of  silent, 
unmoving  men  ranked  under  the  stars.  It  was  dynamic, 
powerful,  capable  of  great  manifestations,  waiting  — 
waiting  —  waiting  for  the  word  to  stir  — 

It  was  an  eerie  feeling  which  enveloped  him  there, 
alone  in  the  gloom  and  the  silence.  He  felt  like  an  intruder, 
like  an  unwelcome  stranger  —  and  small,  mean,  low- 
spirited.  He,  the  seeker  after  possessions,  after  honest 
possessions,  won  by  his  own  skill  and  effort,  felt  mean, 
because  that  day  he  had  realized  that  he  had  not  even 
sensed  the  example  that  had  been  all  about  him  for  weeks, 
had  dragged  it  down  to  the  level  of  his  feeble  appreciation, 
thought  and  spoken  of  it  in  his  own  inadequate  terms. 

Foraker's  Folly  tonight  represented  something  that 
had  never  entered  his  kent  an  idea  beyond  material  gain, 
no  matter  how  heroically  won.  Not  once  in  her  talk  had 
Helen  spoken  of  what  it  meant  to  her  in  wealth,  in  profit. 


TIMBER  133 

It  was  an  adventure  in  practical  creation  for  the  sake  of 
building,  designed  for  the  benefit  of  no  individual, 
developed  for  those  who  were  not  yet  born  and  for  their 
children  of  all  time.  He  had  been  aware  of  men  and 
women  who  had  struggled  unselfishly  that  others  might 
find  living  easier,  but  those  people  had  always  worked 
among  men,  had  stood  in  range  of  the  public  eye,  had 
been  of  cities,  of  great,  spectacular  movements.  But 
here,  lost  in  this  country  which  had  been  laid  waste,  a 
girl,  backed  only  by  an  aged  politician  and  a  group  of 
laborers,  carried  on  her  fight,  ridiculed,  unattended,  that 
homes  might  be  built  and  cities  might  grow,  that  a 
forest  might  yield  and  renew  itself  for  all  time! 

Taylor  felt  as  small  as  he  had  felt  before  Helen  when 
he  first  entered  her  house,  a  searcher  for  an  easy  road  to 
fortune.  He  had  come  far;  he  had  done  the  thing  which 
astonished  even  his  exacting  father,  but  tonight  that  was 
as  nothing.  Sight  had  been  given  him  and  his  emulation 
was  roused,  not  by  possible  personal  triumph  but  by 
the  thought  that  perhaps  it  lay  in  his  power  to  help 
carry  on  this  forest,  the  forest  which  had  become  emble- 
matic of  all  that  is  most  worthy.  It  was  fundamental,  it 
stood  next  to  the  supply  of  food,  it  was  a  bulwark  against 
privation  and  the  insurance  of  national  life  itself. 

He  stopped  at  a  juncture  of  fire  lines  and  looked  at  the 
stars.  The  dipper  hung  above  him  and  the  northern 
lights,  shooting  their  green  spires  far  toward  the  zenith, 
moved  behind  the  treetops,  setting  the  staimch  banners 
of  pine  in  bold  silhouette. 

"I  wanted  to  help  because  it  meant  profit  for  me," 
he  said  in  a  thin  voice.  ^'Profit  for  me  —  and  to  open 
the  way  for  more  profit  —  But,  no  longer  —  not  now!'' 


134  TIMBER 

He  watched  the  spires  of  restless  light  creep  up  and 
upward,  sweeping  in  from  right  and  left,  seeming  to  come 
from  east  and  west  as  well  as  from  beneath  the  north 
star  until  they  converged  above  his  head,  forming  a  cone, 
tremulous  and  fading  swiftly. 

He  clasped  one  hand  with  the  other  and  worked  at  its 
fingers   slowly. 

''And  Marcia?"  He  shook  his  head  and  one  knee  gave 
suddenly.  "I  can't  keep  my  promise  —  unless  you  find 
happiness  —  with  me — "  He  started  on  slowly  but  his 
pace  grew  rapid  and  within  a  half  mile  of  the  men's 
shanty  he  burst  out: 

"God,  Marcia  —  I  don't  want  to  make  you  happy  — 
any  more!" 


^ 


CHAPTER    XIII 

WiNDiGO  Lodge  is  a  huge,  rambling  building  of  logs, 
high  on  a  bluff  overlooking  the  south  branch  of  the 
Au  Sable.  Great  chimneys  of  boulders  flank  the  structure, 
a  wide  verandah  nms  about  three  sides,  screened  in  and 
furnished  in  wicker,  with  those  refinements  which  are  not 
native  to  the  plains  country:  luxurious  swinging  seats, 
lounges,  winged  rockers,  tea  wagons  and  flower  baskets. 

Inside  is  a  great  main  hall.  A  fireplace  fills  one  end, 
bright  rugs  are  on  the  floor,  a  piano  with  its  floor  lamp  is 
in  one  corner;  there  are  shelves  of  books  and  wide  window- 
seats;  electric  lights  are  about  the  walls  and  glow  from 
beneath  lampshades  on  tables,  and  from  the  center  of 
the  beamed  ceiling  hangs  the  massive  root  of  a  cedar  tree, 
polished  expertly  and  each  of  the  two-score  root  prongs 
holds  its  small  frosted  light  bulb. 

A  girl  in  riding  breeches  played  the  piano  and  three 
couples  danced  with  abandon  to  the  primitive  measure. 
At  the  far  end  of  the  room  a  table  of  bridge  occupied 
four  others.  Mrs.  Mason,  Dick's  mother,  read  in  a 
corner,  unmindful  of  sounds  or  movement.  Only  one 
of  the  gay  party  was  alone :  Marcia  Murray  sat  in  a  rocker 
on  the  verandah,  tapping  the  concrete  floor  nervously 
with  a  small  pump,  staring  with  sullen  eyes  toward  the 
river,  where  a  firefly  winked  through  the  spruces. 

It  had  been  a  difficult  day  for  her,  the  culmination  of 
weeks  which  had  been  beset  with  increasing  perplexities. 
Soon  after  her  return  to  Detroit  from  Florida  she  had 
dropped  an  occasional  word  to  be  carried  by  curious 
minds  to  meet  other  words  that  John  Taylor  had  dropped, 

135 


136  TIMBER 

and  it  was  not  long  before  her  best  girl  friends  came  to 
her  with  those  hopeful  kisses  and  smiles  which  are  designed 
to  provoke  confidence. 

But  Marcia  had  made  no  actual  response  to  their 
advances,  because  those  perplexing  factors  had  commenced 
to  present  themselves  to  her  in  John's  letters  before  the 
gossips  had  gotten  very  far  into  her  affairs,  but  she  let  it 
be  known  that  there  might  be  something  to  say  —  before 
very  long.  She  knew  that  they  were  watching  her  at  this 
house  party  as  they  had  never  had  the  opportunity  of 
watching  her  before;  they  listened  to  her  every  word, 
remembered  her  every  action,  for  the  snaring  of  the  heir 
to  the  Taylor  millions  was  a  matter  of  no  small  importance. 
To  heighten  this  curiosity  John  had  not  appeared,  though 
he  was  only  forty  miles  away.  At  heart  Marcia  was 
worried  and  petulant  and  suspicious  from  the  first  day 
of  her  arrival,  but  she  sparred  alertly  before  the  others, 
letting  them  know  little,  for  her  pride  was  as  great  — 
as  some  of  her  other  qualities. 

But  her  hope  that  he  would  spend  this  first  Sunday 
with  her  had  been  too  high  for  hiding.  She  had  let  them 
become  aware  that  she  expected  him  and  when  he  did  not 
come  she  knew  that  they  detected  her  dismay,  try  as 
she  did  to  cover  it.  After  dinner  she  went  to  her  room, 
begging  a  headache,  and  was  aware  that  lifted  eyebrows 
and  a  smirk  or  so  and  perhaps  a  cautious  I-thought-as- 
much  followed  her.  She  opened  a  bag,  took  out  John's 
letters  and  read  them  slowly,  carefully,  weighing  words, 
reading  again  and  again  his  references  to  the  Foraker 
pine  and  to  the  girl  who  owned  it.  He  was  very  enthu- 
siastic over  the  forest  —  but  of  Helen  he  said  little  — 
much  too  little. 


TIMBER  137 

Marcia's  cheeks  became  flushed  and  that  cool  calcula- 
tion which  was  characteristic  of  her  eyes  gave  way  to 
temper.  She  was  not  nice  to  behold  as  she  sat  on  the  floor, 
reading  those  letters  —  after  that  she  lay  down,  stretching 
her  slim  legs  and  throwing  her  arms  wide,  staring  at 
the  ceiling,  thinking,  thinking.  She  slept  a  few  moments 
and  moaned  once  or  twice  lightly.  When  she  awakened, 
she  opened  her  door  and  listened;  it  was  quiet  below; 
most  of  the  others  were  gone.  She  went  down  and  sat 
at  a  desk  and  wrote  a  lengthy  letter,  a  bright,  light 
charming  letter,  completed  with  much  pains  and  delibera- 
tion and  some  rewriting. 

The  letter  was  for  Philip  Rowe. 

She  kept  her  front  of  gaiety  very  well  thereafter  until 
darkness  when  the  others  found  agreeable  diversion,  but 
she  did  not  care  for  cards  or  dancing  and  reading  was  out 
of  the  question,  so  she  slipped  outside  and  sat  alone, 
watching  the  night,  brooding,  planning,  with  temper  in 
her  eyes  again. 

It  was  there  Fan  Huston  found  her.  Fan  was  thirty, 
married  at  twenty-two,  childless,  given  to  tightly  drawn 
hair  nets,  much  rice  powder,  stiff  gowns  and  personal 
difficulties.  She  went  in  for  trouble  as  some  women  go 
in  for  surgeiy  and  some  men  for  the  collecting  of  stamps 
or  obsolete  firearms.  She  came  to  the  door,  saw  Marcia, 
looked  cautiously  about  to  see  that  her  husband  was 
occupied  with  a  girl  in  a  yellow  sweater  and  came  swiftly 
across  the  verandah,  drawing  a  chair  to  Marcia's. 

The  girl  looked  up  with  a  casual  word,  but  the  turn 
of  her  head  exposed  her  worried  face  to  the  revealing 
shaft  of  light.  Fan  said  nothing  for  a  moment,  but  took 
Marcia's  hand  in  hers  and  squeezed  it  significantly.   The 


138  TIMBER 

music  stopped,  voices  arose;  then  the  piano  thumped 
again  and  Fan  Huston  sighed  as  in  relief  and  leaned 
forward. 

"I  understand,  Marcia  dear,''  she  said  lowly.  The 
girl  bit  her  lip  and  turned  her  face  away  and  made  as  if 
to  withdraw  her  hand,  but  Fan  leaned  nearer.  "Now  don't 
think  I'm  butting  in!  I  understand,  and  there  isn't  a  bit  of 
use  thinking  that  you  can  keep  me  from  helping  you! 
It's  a  shame,  and  I'm  here  to  say  so!  If  John  Taylor  had 
come  over  today  I  was  prepared  to  take  the  first  chance 
and  give  him  a  generous  piece  of  my  mind  —  and  make 
him  like  it." 

Her  brittle  voice  vibrated  indignation  and  that  quality 
met  a  need  in  Marcia's  heart.  Taylor's  growing  indiffer- 
ence had  given  her  the  feel  of  a  jilted  woman;  she  had 
been  helplessly  furious  at  the  serene  interest  these  other 
women  took  in  her  misfortune.  But  she  had  not  yet 
reached  the  point  of  storming  against  the  shabby  treat- 
ment John  had  given  her,  and  that  is  the  specific  which 
brings  relief  to  the  feminine  heart  when  everything  else 
has  failed. 

"You  know  that  you  can  trust  me," dear,"  Fan  was 
saying.  "You've  been  very  sweet  through  it  all,  but  you 
couldn't  keep  it  from  Fanny!  I  know;  I've  been  through 
it  and  I've  helped  others  through  it  and  I  can't  help 
telling  you  that  you're  going  too  far,  taking  too  much 
from  John!  It's  a  downright  shame  that  he  should  treat  a 
girl  like  you  this  way,  but  you're  a  little  goose  to  put  up 
with  it!  You  have  the  right  of  every  woman  to  protect 
her  pride,  and  if  you  don't  exercise  that  right,  he  may  — 
walk  on  you,  dear!" 

Marcia's  hand,  which  had  lain  rather  tentatively  in 


TIMBER  139 

Fan's,  moved  and  its  fingers  twined  with  the  older  woman's. 
Fan  lowered  her  voice  and  went  on.  Later  they  walked 
together,  arm  in  arm,  up  and  down  the  terrace  before 
the  house  and  Marcia  cried  a  bit  and  steadied  and  grew 
indignant. 

Before  they  went  in  they  stood  looking  at  the  play  of 
northern  lights. 

"You  would  do  that?"  Marcia  asked  in  the  pause. 

"Positively  I  would!  I  wouldn't  let  a  day  go  by.  If 
there  should  be  another  girl — " 

"Oh,  there  isn't!  I'm  sure  he  isn't  interested  in  Miss 
Foraker!"  There  were  limits  to  which  Marcia  could  go 
even  in  that  sympathetic  company  and  her  pride  prompted 
that  lie.  "It's  —  it's  just  that  he's  so  wrapped  up  in  his 
business. " 

"  Well,  in  either  case, "  Fan  was  not  quite  convinced,  it 
seemed,  "the  best  way  to  bring  him  to  time  is  to  go  there, 
have  it  out." 

Marcia  watched  the  bank  of  light  on  the  horizon  throw 
out  a  fresh  fringe  of  pale  green. 

"Miss  Foraker  has  asked  me  to  come,"  she  lied  again. 
"I  might  —  Yes,  I  think  you're  right.  I  could  drive 
over  —  tomorrow  — " 

Fan  patted  her  hands. 

"rto's  the  girl!  Don't  be  too  abrupt  with  him,  but 
just  have  everything  clearly  understood.  Of  course,  I 
know  your  feeling  for  John,  but  I  can't  help  remarking, 
as  Dr.  Mason  remarked  to  Dick  yesterday  when  the  big 
trout  went  through  his  tackle,  *  there  are  several  big  ones 
left  in  the  stream  yet' — 

"And  if  I  were  you,  Marcia  dear,  I'd  wear  that  blue 
sport  suit — " 


CHAPTER    XIV 

Milt  Goddard  returned  from  Pancake  that  night, 
bringing  letters  for  Taylor. 

Sitting  on  the  deacon's  bench  in  the  men's  shanty  John 
opened  them.  One  was  from  his  father.  The  address  was 
typewritten,  but  within  was  a  scant  page  of  Luke's  scrawl. 
It  had  been  years  since  the  old  man  had  touched  pen  to 
paper  for  his  son  and  that  fact  was  thrilling! 

''You  are  crazy  to  talk  of  that  much  pine.  It  can't  be 
done.  Don't  believe  everything  they  tell  you  up  there 
just  because  you're  a  gullible  cub.  I'm  sending  Rowe  to 
Pancake  Monday  night  just  to  see  how  big  a  fool  you  are. 
Your  mother  is  well.   Yours,  etc.    L.  Taylor. " 

John  breathed  deeply  and  smiled  and  scratched  his 
head  and  re-read  the  crabbed  sentences.  Beneath  their 
crustiness  was  genuine  interest,  a  willingness,  after  Luke's 
manner,  to  take  him  seriously  at  last,  an  indication  that 
the  favors  he  had  asked  two  months  before  and  which  had 
drawn  only  a  cruel  trick  now  were  his. 

Yesterday  he  would  have  tried  to  calculate  the  profit 
that  might  accrue  to  him  from  Luke  Taylor's  aid;  tonight 
he  saw  only  in  that  note  a  promise  that  the  burden  on 
Helen  Foraker's  shoulders  would  be  lightened.  She  had 
helped  him,  she  had  shaped  him  —  she  had  taught  him; 
and  now,  perhaps,  he  could  repay  some  of  that  obligation. 

He  could  not  know  what  waited  just  over  the  horizon 
of  time! 

The  other  letter  was  in  a  smudged,  scrawled  envelope, 

140 


TIMBER  141 

addressed  in  pencil  and  posted  from  Pancake.  He  opened 
it  absently.  The  message  had  been  written  on  rough  tablet 
paper.    It  read: 

"John  Taylor  Sir  Well  are  you  going  to  settel  or  will  i 
have  to  seu  you  My  damages  is  not  Grate  but  unless  i  am 
paid  1000$  I  will  law  you  out  of  the  coimty  Yrs  respy. 
Chas  Stump  esq." 

He  frowned  over  this.  Goddard  came  in  and  he  showed 
it  to  him.  Milt  laughed  in  the  superior  manner  he  had 
adopted  toward  Taylor,  but  condescended  to  say: 

''Miss  Foraker  has  a  stack  of  'em  a  foot  high.  Every- 
body who  comes  here  from  outside  or  anybody  who  has 
any  property  here  gets  those  from  Charley.  He'll  be 
around  to  see  you." 

Taylor  had  not  been  at  the  mill  an  hour  the  next  morn- 
ing when  Charley  Stump  appeared,  pushing  his  safety, 
that  guilty  look  in  his  watery  eyes. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Taylor,"  he  said,  halting  at  a  distance. 

"Hello,  Charley." 

"Fine  weather,  ain't  it?" 

"Right." 

John  was  copying  from  a  tally  sheet  and  paid  no  more 
attention  to  the  old  man  until  he  had  finished.  Then 
he  turned  and  looked  squarely  at  him.  Charley's  hand 
caressed  the  bent  handle-bar  and  his  old  eyes  shifted 
uneasily. 

"Your  logs  is  turnin'  out  good,  Mr.  Taylor?" 

"Fairly  well." 

"That's  fine.   You  like  it  here,  Mr.  Taylor?" 

"You  bet,  Charley!" 

"Well  —  that's  good,"  falteringly,  as  though  he  had 
started  to  say  something  else. 


142  TIMBER 

"Was  there  something  you  wanted  to  say  to  me, 
Charley?" 

"Oh,  no;  I  just  dropped  by  to  see  your  logs.  I'd  been 
over  sooner  only  I  ain't  got  my  tires  yet, "  pointing  at 
the  rope-bound  rims. 

John  walked  away  smiling.  Charley  was  so  meek  and 
casual  after  his  preemptory  threat. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  when  Helen,  driving  her  Ford 
home  from  Pancake,  saw  a  pea-green  roadster  attempt 
to  swing  into  the  road  from  one  of  the  lesser  trails  which 
came  in  from  the  north.  The  car  was  driven  by  a  girl 
and  both  car  and  driver  were  out  of  place  there.  The  motor 
bellowed,  the  sand  flew  from  the  rear  wheels,  spinning 
tires  ate  through  the  sod  hub-deep  into  the  earth  and 
stopped.  Helen  swung  her  car  out  of  the  road,  ran  around 
a  stump,  over  a  half-rotted  log  and  stopped  in  the  road 
again  beyond  the  big  car. 

Marcia  Murray  was  out,  looking  petulantly  at  the 
plight  of  her  car  when  Helen  came  up. 

"They  call  these  roads!"  she  exclaimed.   "All  day  long 

I've  been  wandering  over  these  plains  and  trying  to  get 

right  directions.    How  you  people  manage  to  get  about 

is  more  than  I  understand. " 

Helen  stooped  to  see  better  the  position  of  the  rear  wheels. 

"We  drive  light  cars,"  she  said  simply.  "And  we  get 
used  to  these  roads. "  She  looked  at  Marcia,  immaculate, 
blonde,  flushed,  with  fury  in  her  eyes.  "Where  were  you 
going?" 

"To  Pancake.  How  far  is  it  from  here?" 

"About  eleven  miles." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"No." 


TIMBER  143 

Marcia  sniffed.  "You're  the  first  person  I've  met  today 
who  wasn't  sure,  so  perhaps  you  are  right." 

Her  haughty  manner  did  not  impress  this  girl  in  the 
khaki  skirt  and  laced  boots,  Marcia  perceived.  She 
experienced  misgiving  as  though  this  other  disapproved 
of  her  and  as  though  that  disapproval  mattered.  She  w£ls 
not  accustomed  to  being  made  uncomfortable  by  the 
opinions  of  strangers.  The  flush  in  her  face  mounted  as 
she  watched  Helen,  who  had  dropped  to  her  knees  to 
look  under  the  stalled  car. 

*' You're  in  deep,  but  I  think  I  can  get  you  out." 

"You  can  get  help?" 

"I  could,  but  it  isn't  necessary.  Let  me  take  a  pull  on 
your  car." 

"With  that?"  looking  disdainfully  at  the  rattle-trap 
roadster. 

"Yes." 

Helen  went  to  her  and  came  back  with  a  shovel.  She 
did  not  look  at  Marcia  and  said  nothing  and  this  further 
nettled  the  girl.  She  stood  back,  however,  smoothing 
the  skirt  over  her  hips,  and  watched  Helen  shovel  sand 
and  turf  from  about  the  rear  wheels.  She  did  the  work 
quickly  and  without  any  evident  effort  or  awkwardness. 

"There"  —  drawing  off  her  gloves  and  shaking  sand 
from  them.    "Now  we'll  try." 

A  rope  was  forthcoming  from  the  box  on  her  car.  She 
backed  in  close  and  made  it  fast. 

"Start  your  motor,"  she  said.  "I  think  the  two  of  us 
can  manage  it." 

The  engine  sputtered,  the  gear  of  the  Ford  whined, 
the  slack  came  out  of  the  rope,  the  big  car  bellowed, 
both  sets  of  driving  wheels  tore  at  the  earth  and  the  heavy 


144  TIMBER 

car  crawled  forward,  following  the  smaller  between  stumps 
and  around  through  the  brakes  until  it  was  again  in  the 
road. 

*' You're  not  headed  for  Pancake  now/'  Helen  said 
when  the  motors  stopped.  ''It's  the  other  way,  but  you 
can  turn  around  if  you're  careful  not  to  cut  through  the 
sod." 

"You'll  let  me  pay  for  this,  of  course." 

Marcia  produced  her  purse,  but  Helen  would  not  accept 
money,  though  Marcia  was  insistent. 

"Well,  it  was  very  kind  of  you,  anyhow.  You'll  take 
my  thanks,  won't  you? 

"Perhaps  the  person  I  am  looking  for  is  not  just  in 
Pancake;  that  is  his  address,  but  there's  a  mill  somewhere 
near  here?" 

"Yes,  on  a  little  further. " 

"I'm  looking  for  a  Mr.  Taylor.   Do  you  know  of  him?" 

Helen  eyed  Marcia  with  a  new  interest.  "I'm  working 
for  Mr.  Taylor  and  I  am  going  to  talk  with  him  as  soon 
as  I  get  home.  He  will  be  at  my  house. " 

"Oh"  ~  rather  slowly.   "How  much  further  is  that?" 

"Not  far.   If  you  want  to  you  can  follow  me  — " 

"That's  very  kind  of  you,"  icily. 

Marcia  was  appraising  this  woman,  now,  as  her  identity 
seeped  into  understanding,  and  the  personal  inadequacy 
she  had  felt  gave  way  to  its  sister  emotion:  resentment. 
It  was  with  this  girl  John  was  working,  it  was  to  her  he 
had  referred  with  such  significant  repression  in  his  letters. 
Marcia's  flush  came  back  as  she  followed  the  rattling 
Ford  over  the  swells  and  into  Foraker's  Folly. 

At  the  door  of  her  own  house  Helen  stopped  and  got 
down. 


TIMBER  145 

"I  have  some  things  to  look  after/'  she  said.  "Mr. 
Taylor  is  in  there,  or  will  be  shortly.   Won't  you  go  in?" 

Marcia's  thanks  was  curt.  She  ran  up  the  steps, 
breath  quickening,  and  paused  with  her  hand  on  the  knob 
and  watched  Helen  join  Black  Joe  and  move  toward  the 
nursery.   Then  she  opened  the  door  and  stood  looking  in. 

John  was  at  Helen's  desk,  loose  papers  about  him, 
lumber  quotations  clipped  from  a  Detroit  newspaper 
propped  against  a  book,  figuring  on  a  pad  of  blank  paper. 
He  had  heard  the  approach  of  Helen's  noisy  car;  he 
had  not  heard  the  soft  breathing  of  the  big  roadster, 
so  when  the  door  opened  he  believed  it  was  Helen  returning 
and  did  not  look  up  at  once,  but  only  gi-unted  an  abstracted 
greeting.  When  no  step  soimded  he  raised  his  eyes. 

For  a  moment  he  sat  in  motionless  amazement,  and 
then  his  pencil  dropped  to  the  blotter. 

"Marcia!"  he  cried,  and  there  was  in  the  word  a  ring 
of  gladness  which  was  eloquent,  as  he  beheld  the  trim  girl, 
cool  and  clean  and  representative  of  all  that  had  been 
desirable  —  a  few  short  weeks  before.  **Marcia! "  Amaze- 
ment was  there  as  he  rose  slowly,  bewildered  at  seeing 
her  there.  He  stopped  about  the  corner  of  the  desk, 
moved  toward  her  and  stopped.  "Marcia?"  A  faltering 
question,  reflecting  all  the  doubt,  a  crystallizing  of  all 
the  change  that  had  come  into  his  heart,  a  troubled  echo 
of  the  truth  that  had  come  to  him  last  night  as  he  stood 
alone  imder  the  pines. 

For  a  moment  they  were  so,  a  dozen  feet  apart,  the 
man's  face  a  study  in  conflicts,  the  girl's  intent,  alert  as  it 
pried  and  probed  with  the  incisiveness  of  her  kind. 

"John,"  she  said  lowly.   "John?" 

He  moved  forward  and  she  put  out  both  hands  to  him, 


146  TIMBER 

her  eyes  questioning,  before  the  calculation  which  flickered 
in  their  depths;  he  took  her  hands  and  halted.  Just  that: 
took  her  hands  in  his  and  stopped. 

They  stood,  and  he  felt  her  tremble. 

''John  —  aren't  you  going  to  —  kiss  me?"  Her  voice 
was  exquisite  pathos  mingled  with  fright  and  misgiving, 
fright  and  misgiving  which  were  well  balanced;  almost 
too  well  balanced. 

He  released  one  of  her  hands  and  his  fell  to  his  side 
limply. 

"No,  Marcia,"  shaking  his  head  slowly.  '^I'm  not  — 
today." 

She  drew  back  then,  a  hand  at  her  throat. 

"John?  John!  You  aren't  glad  to  see  me? "  in  a  breath- 
less whisper;  and  then,  voice  mounting," John!  What  is  it?" 

He  turned  away,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pockets, 
staring  gloomily  through  a  window. 

"A  mistake,"  he  muttered. 

"Mistake?" 

"Yes,  a  ghastly,  miserable  mistake!"  he  cried,  facing 
her  again,  throwing  his  hands  wide.  "I'm  at  fault, 
Marcia.  The  blame  in  it  rests  on  me.  I've  been  selfish, 
indecisive.  I've  changed  and  said  nothing  to  you  about 
change.  If  you  hadn't  come  here  today  I  might  have 
come  to  you  with  this  —  or  I  might  have  let  matters 
drift  — I  don't  know." 

He  swallowed  drily  and  looked  down  at  her.  She 
seemed  smaller  than  ever,  seemed  more  lovely,  more 
fragile  than  she  ever  had  before;  her  blue  eyes  were  wide 
with  fright  and  her  lips  parted  in  bewilderment,  and  that 
bewilderment  was  genuine.  His  brows  drew  together 
with  the  pain  of  hurting  her,  but  the  change  of  weeks  had 


TIMBER  147 

come  to  this  rushing  conclusion  and  there  could  be  no 
evasion,  no  more  delay. 

"I  was  honest  enough  with  you  in  the  beginning,'*  he 
went  on.  ^'I'U  ask  that  for  myself:  credit  for  being 
sincere.  I  was  off  my  head  about  you,  I  was  ready  to 
promise  anything  to  you,  ready  to  do  anything  for  you  — 
and  I  was  wrong. " 

His  voice  dropped  and  he  let  his  hand  which  had  been 
lifted  drop,  too. 

"Wrong?"  she  asked.  "Just  where  —  ?  Just  how?  — ■" 
Her  voice  was  a  bit  steadier,  that  amazement  was  going 
from  her  face;  a  glint  of  craft  was  there. 

"In  everything  —  from  you  to  saw-logs!" 

Her  eyes  narrowed,  just  perceptibly. 

"And  what  have  I  done?"  she  asked,  "What  —  to 
make  this  difference?"  She  was  steeled,  as  though  her 
question  invited  accusation. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  That's  the  devil  of  it :  you've  done 
nothing."  She  stirred,  as  in  relief.  "It's  all  on  me, 
Marcia. "  He  did  not  see  the  leap  of  triumph  in  her  eyes 
or  the  settling  of  her  mouth.  "I  —  made  love  to  you  and 
promised  many  things  —  which  I  can't  fulfill. " 

The  girl  stepped  forward  quickly. 

"John,  there's  some  terrible  misunderstanding  here," 
she  said  hurriedly,  resting  a  hand  on  his  arm.  "You 
frighten  me,  but  I  know  it's  a  misunderstanding!"  She 
pressed  a  hand  against  her  lips  as  though  to  crowd  back 
a  sob  but  her  cool,  clear  eyes  showed  no  such  distress. 

"You're  miserable;  you're  making  a  mountain  of  — 
nothing.  There  has  been  some  good  reason  for  your  — 
for  what  might  seem  to  other  people  like  your  neglect  of 
me,  I  know." 


148  TIMBER 

She  waited  a  moment  and  when  he  did  not  look  at  her, 
shook  his  arm  gently. 

"Everything  has  been  going  so  splendidly  for  you,  dear! 
Yom*  father  can't  keep  his  pride  to  himself.  He  tells 
everybody  about  you.  He's  ready  to  help  you  —  the 
world  is  before  you,  John  — 

"Promises?"  She  laughed  nervously.  "The  only 
promise  you  made  me  was  happiness  and  that  happiness 
is  yours  to  give  me  —  for  the  asking. " 

She  paused,  smiled  wistfully,  and  Taylor  looked  down 
at  her  again. 

"No,  Marcia,  I  can't  give  you  the  happiness  you  want, " 
he  said  evenly.  A  flicker  of  hostility  showed  in  her  eyes. 
"There's  such  a  difference  in  the  happiness  that  you 
wanted  and  the  happiness  —  you  see,  I'm  not  the  John 
Taylor  I  was  when  I  left  you,"  very  earnestly.  "I've 
changed  in  the  things  I  want  and  respect  and  because  of 
that  I've  changed  in  almost  every  thought  and  impulse.  I 
couldn't  help  this  change  if  I  wanted  to;  I'm  not  trying 
to  crawl  out  of  a  mighty  uncomfortable  position;  I'm 
telling  you  facts. 

"The  John  Taylor  who  came  up  here  started  to  make 
a  fortune  for  you,  to  give  you  happiness  in  the  terms  of 
possessions  that  you  could  see  and  touch.  That  isn't 
possible  any  more.  I  can't  do  that  —  even  after  I've 
promised  to  do  it  —  I  didn't  come  to  Windigo  yesterday 
because  I  knew  that  some  such  thing  as  this  would  have 
to  be  said,  though  I  didn't  admit  it  even  to  myself  until 
last  night  —  and  I  didn't  want  to  hurt  you  —  I've  tried 
to  hide  from  the  fact  that  the  next  time  we  saw  each  other 
—  I'd  have  to  ask  you  to  —  cancel  our  contract  — '" 

''I  don't  understand,"  she  said  coolly  and  drew  back. 


TIMBER  149 

"I  scarcely  understand  myself,  Marcia.  I  don't  want 
to  make  money.  I  would  like  to  have  money,  but  I've 
lost  all  interest  in  starting  out  to  make  a  fortune  as  a  first 
objective — " 

"No  one  wants  money;  they  want  what  it  will  buy." 

"Not  even  that, "  shaking  his  head.  "I  —  I'd  like  to  do 
a  little  something  for  a  lot  of  people.  I'd  like  to  be  of  a 
little  service,  I  think.  I'd  like  to  put  my  mind  and  body 
and  what  little  money  I  may  be  able  to  get  from  my 
father  behind  an  idea  which  is  going  to  count  for  many 
people  —  not  just  for  me.  I'd  like  to  put  in  the  best 
years  of  my  life  —  just  doing  that. " 

"Go  on;  you're  becoming  interesting,"  with  a  tinge 
of  irony. 

"You  see,  I  have  my  chance  to  do  that  in  this  forest, 
this  pine.  I've  written  you  about  it.  You  won't  under- 
stand if  I  try  to  tell  you  all,  but  I'll  say  just  this:  it's  an 
adventure  in  putting  back  into  the  hands  of  men  the 
forests  that  men  took  away.  I  told  you  about  Thad 
Parker's  wife  —  you've  seen  this  country.  My  father 
helped  make  the  Jim  Harrises  and  the  Thad  Parkers 
possible;  he  helped  lay  waste  to  this  country  and  did 
nothing  to  put  back  what  he  had  taken. 

"I  used  to  believe  that  my  father's  fortune  was  some- 
thing for  me  to  use.  I  never  considered  the  fact  that  the 
devastation  which  made  that  fortune  worked  a  hardship 
on  any  one  else.  I've  come  to  understand  that  now,  and 
I've  come  to  think  that  maybe  the  job  before  me  is  to 
undo  some  of  the  damage  my  father  did;  to  put  back 
some  of  the  things  he  took  away.  He  wouldn't  under- 
stand that,  of  course.  It  would  make  him  furious.  No 
matter;  he  won't  have  to  know,  but  I'm  going  to  ask  him 


150  TIMBER 

to  help  me  do  just  that  job.  I  won't  put  it  in  such  terms, 
but  I  won't  deceive  him.  I  can't  promise  him  any  great 
profit;  I  can't  even  promise  him  his  money  back;  I  don't 
know,  yet,  how  much  I  will  need,  but  I  want  him  to  take 
a  chance  with  me  and  I  think  he  will.  He  is  sending  Phil 
Rowe  to  Pancake  to  look  it  up  and  he'll  be  here  tonight  —  " 

"And  what  has  this  to  do  with  me? "  There  was  defiance 
in  the  movement  of  Marcia's  head  and  John  looked  at  her 
rather  startled  by  her  evident  wrath. 

"Only  this  —  that  I  can't  offer  you  anything  of  what 
you  want." 

"And  what  else?"  she  waited.  "That  I'm  —  no  longer 
satisfactory?" 

"Please  don't  put  it  that  way,"  he  begged.  His  voice 
trembled  and  his  face  was  drawn  with  suffering,  because 
he  hurt  her.  "We  wouldn't  have  anything  in  common, 
Marcia;  I  couldn't  give  you  what  you  wanted  —  and 
with  you  unhappy,  where  would  I  find  happiness?  It 
would  be  wretched  for  both  of  us.   Don't  you  see  that?" 

"Yes,  I  see,"  she  said  and  laughed  again.  She  drew  off 
her  gloves  nervously,  with  anger  showing  in  the  sharp 
little  jerks  of  her  hands.  "You've  changed,  yes!  And 
because  you've  changed,  you  assume  the  right  to  make 
me  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  my  friends,  to  humiliate  me, 
to  delude  and  deceive  me  and  make  me  suffer." 

"Oh,   Marcia—" 

"You're  not  dumb,  John  Taylor!  This  isn't  any  sudden 
change  in  you;  there's  nothing  spontaneous  about  it; 
it's  deliberate  and  planned  and  I  am  —  the  deluded 
virgin!" 

He  tried  to  interrupt,  but  she  stormed  on,  voice  unsteady. 
"That  is  what  it  amounts  to!    You  made  love  to  me 


TIMBER  151 

furiously;  you  were  extravagant  in  your  promises.  I 
believed  and  promised  to  be  your  wife  —  you  have  it 
in  your  power  to  make  good  these  promises,  but  you  have 
forgotten  that  I  and  others  may  think  that  you  owe 
something  to  me  regardless  of  —  this  change  in  you! 
Wait  a  minute!  I^m  not  through!"  Taylor  dropped  his 
hands  limply  and  listened.  *'A11  my  closest  friends,  all 
your  best  friends,  those  who  know  the  most  about  us, 
those  who  had  our  confidence,  knew  that  I  had  given  my 
word  to  marry  you.  They  talk  about  you  and  gush  over 
the  way  you  have  developed,  when  all  they  want  to  know 
is  why  youVe  changed  in  your  attitude  toward  me  — 
the  cats!  They  held  up  all  their  plans  yesterday  to  see  if 
you  would  come,  and  when  you  didn't  they  tried  to  say 
that  they  were  sorry,  when  I  knew  that  they  felt  that  it 
served  me  right  for  trusting  you  at  all. 

** There's  another  thing:  How  it  affects  me,  here,"  a 
hand  on  her  breast.  " I  put  my  trust  in  you;  you  made  a 
solemn  compact  and  now,  on  a  whim,  you  ditch  me  — 
because  you  don't  want  to  make  money!  Because  you 
want  to  become  a  sort  of  evangelist,  you  begin  by  trampling 
a  girl's  heart  and  making  her  a  laughing  stock.  Have 
you  no  pride,  John  Taylor?  Have  you  no  shame?" 

Her  questions  stung  like  the  bite  of  a  leash.  He  could 
not  know  what  went  on  in  her  cool  little  mind,  could  not 
know  the  meanness  of  her  own  heart  at  that  moment. 
For  him,  who  believed  he  had  known  women,  Marcia 
had  been  worthy  of  his  trust;  for  him  she  had  been  sweet 
and  gentle,  honest  and  without  guile.  He  could  not  know 
of  the  nights  she  had  been  with  Phil  Rowe,  playing  him, 
holding  him  at  once  aloof  and  her  prisoner;  he  could  not 
guess  the  tensity  and  intelligence  with  which  she  had 


152  TIMBER 

followed  the  varying  favor  of  old  Luke.  He  could  not 
know  the  secret  plans  she  had  made  in  heartlessness  and 
mercenary  calculation,  the  deceptions  she  had  practiced, 
could  not  know  the  scorn  she  had  for  the  first  manhood 
and  idealism  that  ventured  into  his  letters.  But  this  he 
could  see  and  know  —  that  instead  of  hurting  this  girl  he 
had  stirred  a  terrible  temper;  that  instead  of  crying  out 
to  him  in  suffering  she  talked  to  him  of  her  position,  of 
what  he  could  do  for  her  if  he  would!  Pride?  Shame? 
Had  he  neither? 

''I  have  pride,  Marcia;  I  have  shame.  I  have  too  much 
pride  to  lie  to  myself,  to  go  through  with  this  bargam 
which  was  to  have  meant  much  happiness.  Now  —  I 
could  never  bring  you  happiness.  It  is  better  to  see 
failure  ahead  than  to  walk  blindly  into  it.  By  foresight  — 
there  is  perhaps  chance  of  another  start.  Shame?  Yes, 
I  have  shame!  The  only  greater  shame  that  could  come  to 
me  would  come  if  I  dodged  this  thing  today  —  and  went 
through  with  something  infamous."  He  moved  forward, 
not  just  steadily,  and  towered  over  her,  looking  into  her 
face  with  a  scrutiny  which  would  not  be  evaded.  One  of 
his  hands  worked  slowly  as  though  he  clutched  for  some 
saving  condition.  For  a  breathless  moment  they  stood 
silent,  giving  one  another  stare  for  stare. 

"I  have  changed  and  you  have  changed,  Marcia.  I  — 
I  never  thought  you  had  claws!  I  was  prepared  to  break 
your  heart  today  —  and  pay  the  penalty  to  my  own 
conscience,  all  because  of  my  mistake.  I  paid  that  penalty 
here  in  this  room  only  a  moment  ago.  I  suffered  as  I 
never  thought  a  man  could  suffer,  because  I  was  acting 
the  cad,  because  I  thought  I  was  —  hurting  you.  There's 
one  thing  I  want  to  ask  you,  and  I  want  you  to  be  as 


TIMBER  153 

honest  with  me  as  I  have  been  with  you.  If  I  had  come  to 
Windigo  yesterday,  if  I  had  told  you  that  I  could  never 
bring  fortune,  if  I  had  asked  you  to  keep  your  promise 
under  those  circumstances,  would  you  have  taken  me?" 

She  did  not  answer.  She  tried  to  tear  her  eyes  away 
from  his,  tried  to  move,  but  she  was  helpless  in  the  grip 
of  his  earnestness.  A  door  opened  and  Helen  Foraker 
stepped  into  the  room,  saw  them  and  halted  in  surprise. 

"Please  excuse  me,"  she  begged.  "I  heard  no  one  and 
thought  you  had  gone  out." 

She  started  to  withdraw,  but  Marcia  checked  her. 

"Don*t  go,"  she  said  and  laughed.  She  began  drawing 
on  a  glove,  covering  the  white,  well  shaped,  well  tended 
hands.  "There  isn^t  place  for  two  of  us  here,  it  seems. 
I'm  going  —  to  make  room  for  you,  Miss  Foraker. " 

She  drew  back  and  her  eyes  ran  the  length  of  Taylor's 
body,  resting  on  his  face  with  a  blaze  of  fury.  Her  Up 
curled  over  her  even  teeth  as  she  said:  "This,  I  suppose, 
may  be  the  ending  of  the  first  lesson!" 

She  turned  toward  the  door. 

"Wait!"  he  said  sharply,  and  caught  her  wrist,  swinging 
her  about  to  face  him. 

"You  haven't  answered  me  —  under  those  conditions, 
what  would  you  have  said?" 

As  she  shook  off  his  clasp  she  smiled  again  and  her  chin 
went  up.  "What  would  I  have  said?"  She  laughed,  with 
the  laugh  of  a  victor.  "Why,  you  poor  fool,  I'd  have 
laughed  in  your  face!" 

The  screen  door  banged  behind  her.  As  she  jumped  to 
the  seat  of  the  roadster  he  stood  looking  after  her,  arms 
Ump  at  his  side,  breath  quick.  The  motor  started,  the 
car  backed  and  swung  and  with  a  bellow  as  of  oon- 


154  TIMBER 

temptuous  rage  it  struck  into  the  road  which  led  out  of 
the  forest. 

John  turned  slowly  toward  the  doorway  in  which  Helen 
had  appeared.  She  was  gone,  the  door  closed.  He  stared 
blankly  at  it. 

''Fooled!"  he  muttered.  "So  —  1  was  the  dupe! 
It  wasn't  the  man  —  but  what  he  could  give!"  He  put 
a  hand  over  his  eyes  and  laughed  weakly.  ''And  I  humbled 
myself  —  I  crawled  on  my  belly  —  but,  by  God!"  hand 
dropping  from  his  eyes,  "I  went  through  with  it!  I  didn't 
hedge!" 

He  stared  again  at  the  closed  door  through  which 
Helen  had  come  to  see  and  hear  and  through  which  she  had 
gone  again.  He  stepped  forward,  a  half  dozen  quick 
strides. 

' '  Helen ! "  he  cried  —  ' '  Helen ! "  —  and  stopped  and 
waited.  No  reply,  and  he  breathed  again.  "No  —  not 
now,"  he  said.  "Lord,  no!  Not  now  —  not  the  chance 
of  another  mistake!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

The  anger  which  had  been  in  Marcia's  face  died  long 
l^efore  she  crossed  Seven  Mile  Creek.  She  became  a 
trifle  pale,  a  little  drawn  of  feature,  as  though  she  had 
been  through  an  ordeal,  as  if  she  had  bid  high  on  a  long 
chance  and  lost.  But  her  eyes,  though  fast  on  the  road, 
showed  a  degree  of  speculation  that  does  not  come  often 
to  the  blue  eyes  of  a  golden-haired  girl;  they  were  not 
hopeless  or  dismayed,  and  when  she  reached  the  place 
where  she  had  been  stalled  she  did  not  turn  into  the  road 
that  would  take  her  back  to  Windigo  Lodge,  but  kept 
right  on  to  Pancake,  stopped  her  car  at  the  Commercial 
House  where  she  registered  and  was  given  a  room,  and 
from  there  she  telephoned  to  Mrs.  Mason,  at  Windigo. 

"This  is  Marcia,"  she  said  gaily.  "John  won't  let  me 
come  back  tonight,  so  I*m  going  to  stay  over  —  yes, 
he's  awfully  busy  —  yes,  I'm  with  Miss  Foraker  — 
delightful  —  see  you  all  tomorrow  — " 

She  hung  up  the  receiver  and  stepped  out  of  the  booth, 
her  mouth  set. 

"  What  time  is  the  train  from  the  south  due?  "  she  asked 
Henry. 

"Nine-ten,"  he  replied. 

"That  is  the  only  one  today?" 

"Only  one  since  noon." 

The  early  June  moon  hung  over  Pancake  as  the  night 
train  slid  to  a  stop,  glorifying  the  ugly  Httle  town,  soften- 
ing the  bad  lines  of  its  flimsy  buildings,  toning  down  the 

155 


156  TIMBER 

colors  with  which  they  were  painted,  mellowing  the 
nakedness  of  others.  The  night  was  very  still  and  warm, 
and  sweet  with  the  purity  of  distances. 

The  river  murmured  to  the  village  as  it  slid  by  and 
people  sitting  on  their  stoops  talked  back  and  forth,  their 
voices  carrying  well  in  the  night  air.  Philip  Rowe  came 
across  the  street  beside  Henry  who  had  gone  to  the  train 
to  guide  stray  travelers  to  his  shelter,  and  Marcia,  from 
the  hotel  verandah,  watched  him  come,  rocking  gently 
in  the  rickety  chair,  her  cool  smile  hidden  by  the  shadows. 

She  remained  there  while  he  registered  and  went  to  his 
room,  waiting  patiently,  because  the  rooms  were  stuffy 
and  she  knew  he  would  return.  He  came  exit  of  the  door 
and  stopped  to  light  a  cigar.  She  could  see  his  frown  in 
the  glare  of  the  match;  she  saw,  too,  the  look  of  amazement 
when  she  spoke.  He  stared  toward  her  incredulously  and 
did  not  move  until  the  match  burned  out.  Then  she 
laughed. 

He  came  with  quick  steps  and  leaned  over  her  chair. 
"Marcia  Murray!" 

"Why  so  dramatic?"  She  laughed  as  she  let  her  hand 
rest  in  his. 

"Of  all  places  to  find  you!" 

"You  knew  I  was  at  Dick  Mason's." 

"But  that's  a  long  way  from  here!" 

"Love,"  she  said  mockingly,  "laughs  at  locksmiths 
and  bad  roads." 

His  hand  tightened  on  hers  till  she  winced. 

"Oh,  not  that,  Phil!  You're  so  eager  and  impulsive  — 
and  such  an  optimist.  I  had  no  idea  you  were  coming, 
though  I  believe  John  did  mention  it. " 

He  dropped  her  hand  and  leaned  against  the  railing. 


TIMBER  157 

"You  were  over  here  to  see  him,"  he  said  flatly. 

Her  clear  laugh  came  again.  "Of  course,  who  else 
would  I  come  to  see?  Though  naturally,  I'm  glad  that 
you  are  here  tonight.  I  had  planned  a  lonely  evening. 
John  doesn't  know  that  I  got  off  the  road  and  missed 
my  way  until  late.  I  was  with  him  all  day  and  he  thinks 
I'm  safe  at  Windigo.  I  would  only  worry  him  if  I  let  him 
know. " 

Rowe  pulled  at  his  cigar. 

"He's  so  busy!  You'll  hardly  know  him,  Phil;  he's  quite 
changed. " 

"I  expect  so,"  drily.    Pause. 

"Why  don't  we  walk?"  Rowe  asked.  "I've  ridden 
all—" 

"Fine!   Such  a  night!" 

They  went  together,  slowly,  out  along  the  board  side- 
walk to  where  it  became  but  two  planks  laid  side  by  side 
in  the  sand,  and  finally  off  that  into  the  road  itself. 

"Don't  you  think  John  is  doing  wonderfully,"  Marcia 
asked. 

Rowe  shrugged  and  threw  away  his  cigar  rather  impet- 
uously, as  though  it  had  not  pleased  his  taste.  "He's 
doing  something,  yes,  but  the  old  man  can't  trust  him. 
He's  a  kid  in  business;  been  lucky,  but  he  has  a  deal  on 
and  Luke  won't  trust  him  to  go  it  alone;  that's  why  I 
am  here." 

Marcia  lowered  her  face  and  he  would  have  been 
startled  had  he  seen  its  intentness.  "But  I  thought  his 
father  was  greatly  pleased  with  what  he  had  done?" 

"Oh,  in  a  way,"  grudgingly.  "He  doesn't  trust  him 
like  he  does  me."  There  was  something  like  a  childish 
boast  in  the  last. 


158  TIMBER 

''Then  he  hasn't  overcome  his  father's  prejudice?" 

''No!"  explosively. 

"But  if  he  should  show  big  things?" 

"He  has  to  do  that  yet!" 

"Don't  you  think  this  new  idealism  he's  developing 
will  appeal  to  his  father?  Or  —  mightn't  he  like  it?  " 

Rowe  glanced  sideways  at  her;  her  face  was  still  in 
the  shadow. 

"Just  what  do  you  mean  —  idealism?" 

"Why  his  putting  ideals  above  money.  He  came  up 
here  to  make  money  and  he  has  done  that,  has  proven 
that  he  is  capable  of  making  it.  He's  seemed  to  outgrow 
that  ambition,  though  I  think  it's  splendid  the  way  he 
wants  to  help  Miss  Foraker." 

Rowe's  fingers  touched  his  chin  speculatively. 

"That's  news  to  me, "  he  said.  "I  came  up  to  find  out 
about  this  pine  deal  and  what  backing  he  wants. " 

Marcia  looked  up  in  a  good  counterfeit  of  surprise. 

"Am  I  betraying  a  secret?   I  didn't  mean  to,  really!" 

"No  secret.   I'll  know  in  the  morning. " 

He  urged  gently  for  more  information,  but  Marcia 
held  it  back  long  enough  to  whet  his  curiosity. 

"Why,  it's  simply  a  matter  of  ideals,"  she  finally  said. 
"His  father,  you  see,  made  his  fortune  by  cutting  pine. 
Now  John  has  been  convinced  by  Miss  Foraker  that 
timber  can  be  grown  as  a  crop.  He  wants  to  see  some  of 
that  fortune  made  out  of  old  pine  devoted  to  growing 
young  pine  —  and  undo  some  of  the  damage  his  father 
did  to  this  country.  He  thinks  his  father  owes  something 
to  —  to  the  country;  only,  of  course,  he  won't  put  it 
that  way  to  Mr.  Taylor.  It's  a  conservation  hobby  — 
reforestation. " 


TIMBER  159 

After  a  moment  Rowe  laughed:  *' Growing  trees  to 
look  at,  eh?" 

*'Well,  for  a  time.  He  isn't  sure  that  it  will  pay  —  it 
isn't  profit  he  is  after,  anyhow. " 

Rowe  was  silent. 

"  A  big  idea  isn't  it?"  she  asked. 

"Not  for  profit,  eh?" 

"Really  Phil,  I  don't  know  detail.  It's  all  very  big 
and  splendid.  It  dates  away  ahead  for  future  generations. 
I  tell  him  I  don't  think  his  father  will  take  to  the  idea 
very  readily.  Do  you?  John,  though,  is  all  enthusisism 
for  it—" 

Another  period  of  silence;  then  from  Rowe:  "Are  you 
sure  of  this?" 

"Sure?  Of  course!  He  talked  it  all  the  afternoon. " 

His  hand  sought  her  arm  and  rested  there  none  too 
lightly. 

"And  what  do  you  think?"  he  asked.  "What  do  you 
think  Luke  Taylor  would  say  to  putting  his  money  into 
something  for  —  coming  generations  —  pajdng  for  what 
he's  broke?" 

"It  doesn't  sound  much  like  him,  does  it?" 

Rowe  laughed  harshly. 

"I  guess  not!  I  guess  not!  He's  had  me  jumping  for 
months  switching  his  investments  so  they're  as  good  as 
cash!  A  bird  in  hand  is  worth  a  half  dozen  in  the  bush  to 
him—" 

He  stopped  and  swung  her  about  so  that  her  face  was 
toward  the  moon. 

"Don't  you  know  what  this  means?  Don't  you  know 
what  Luke  will  say?" 

"Why  — what,  Phil?"  breathlessly. 


160  TIMBER 

''You're  right  that  John  has  caught  the  old  man's 
interest.  He  has  made  a  showing  that  tickled  the  old  dog, 
but  I  knew  that  he  wouldn't  go  far!  I  knew  he'd  make 
some  fool  break  and  have  to  be  satisfied  with  being  a  rich 
man's  son  in  the  flesh  —  and  not  before  the  courts  — 
when  Luke  dies." 

"Phil!" 

"Listen,  Marcia!  A  new  will  is  ready  to  be  drawn. 
John  is  cut  off  with  an  annuity  —  about  enough  to  keep 
a  teamster  and  his  wife  in  want.  I'm  to  be  named  as 
administrator.  I'm  to  control  the  Luke  Taylor  millions! 
It's  a  big  job;  it'll  be  a  fat  job!" 

He  had  both  her  arms  in  his  hands  then,  gripping  their 
firm  flesh.  She  drew  back,  alarm  in  her  face  —  all  but 
the  eyes,  which  were  steady  and  cool  and  calculating 

"I  used  to  think  he  was  simply  shiftless.  I  never 
imagined  he  was  a  nut!  Do  you  want  to  marry  a  man  and 
live  on  ideals?  Do  you  want  to  tie  yourself  to  a  worthless 
kid  or  an  improvident  dreamer?  Do  you  want  to  do  that?  " 

"Phil,  what  are  you  saying — " 

"I'm  saying  this,"  he  muttered  fiercely,  bending  close 
to  her.  ''I'm  saying  that  is  it  Phil  Rowe  and  not  John 
Taylor  who  will  be  able  to  give  you  the  things  you  want? 
Oh,  don't  deny  it!  I  know  you,  Marcia,  your  impulses, 
your  desires!  I  know  that  a  man  must  bid  high  for  your 
love.  I  know  you  want  not  comfort  but  luxury,  not 
position  but  independence. 

"Until  now  I  haven't  figured  with  you  much.  Until 
now  I've  been  Luke  Taylor's  bookkeeper,  but  I've  been 
a  good  bookkeeper  —  I've  gotten  closer  to  him  than  his 
son  ever  did,  than  his  son  ever  can  now.  I'll  have  a 
chunk  of  the  estate  for  my  —  loyalty,"  with  fine  irony. 


TIMBER  161 

"That  means  that  it's  the  bookkeeper,  not  the  son,  who 
can  make  you  contented  and  happy!" 

**Phil,  you're  trying  to  buy  me!" 

"Buy  you?  Yes!"  as  he  dragged  her  to  him  and  slid 
one  arm  about  her  shoulders.  She  struggled  —  very 
briefly  —  and  then  stood  quiet,  stilling  the  quaking  of  her 
limbs,  as  he  talked  into  her  hair,  mingling  kisses  with 
words.  "All  women  who  are  worth  while  are  bought! 
Do  you  think  I'd  want  you  if  you  were  cheap?  Do  you 
think  I'd  want  a  woman  who  would  be  content  to  grub 
and  slave? 

"Luke  will  explode  when  he  hears  what's  brought  me 
here!  Paying  for  what  he  broke!  That's  good!  John 
will  be  cut  off  —  I'll  be  as  good  as  the  old  man's  heir. 
And  that  means  —  that  means  you  —  for  me!" 

She  struggled  again  when  his  hand  pried  her  chin 
upward,  but  she  did  not  struggle  when  his  burning  lips 
lay  on  her  mouth  —  and  after  a  moment  hers  responded 
to  that  caress.  And  then  she  was  free,  panting,  smoothing 
her  hair. 

"What  are  you  saying?  What  are  you  doing?  Why 
should  I  let  you?"  But  her  eyes  reflected  no  question  and 
a  wicked  little  flare  of  triumph  ran  across  her  features. 

"Because  I  love  you!  Because  you  will  love  me!"  he 
cried. 

"Don't  be  too  sure,  Phil,"  but  her  voice  was  without 
the  power  of  dissuasion.  "We  must  go  back  now  — 
don't  Phil  —  you're  hurting  me!" 

At  the  door  of  her  room  he  stopped.  A  lonesome  soiled 
incandescent  burned  in  the  red  carpeted  hall,  but  it  was 
enough  to  show  him  the  fire  in  her  eyes,  to  reveal  the 


162  TIMBER    * 

tempting  curve  of  her  lips  as  she  smiled  —  tempting  to 
distraction.  Her  hand  was  on  the  knob,  the  door  was 
opening.   He  lurched  forward,  all  assurance  and  desire  — 

She  put  up  her  hand  quickly  and  laughed  brittily. 

^'Marcia!"  There  was  determination  with  the  pleading 
in  that  word. 

^*No,  Phil  —  tonight,  I  only  —  admire  you  —  just 
that,  Phil  Rowe.    No  more  —  tonight — " 

The  door  closed  between  them.  i 

Out  in  the  men's  shanty  in  Foraker's  Folly  a  man  lay 
flat  on  his  back,  staring  up  into  the  darkness. 

John  Taylor  had  been  wrong  so  many  times.  He  had 
been  wrong  in  everything  these  last  weeks  —  from  saw 
logs  to  Marcia  Murray!  He  stirred  restlessly.  He  had 
thought  he  understood  women,  as  he  had  thought  he 
understood  himself;  had  believed  that  Marcia  was  sweet 
and  kind  and  gentle.  Today  he  had  seen  her  claws,  had 
felt  them  tearing  at  his  pride.  He  had  humbled  himself 
before  her  because  he  had  been  wrong  and  had  believed 
it  the  honorable  way  —  but  his  mistake  had  been  two- 
fold. He  had  loved  her,  but  love  had  not  brought  her 
into  his  arms.  The  impelling  influence  was  the  hope  of 
possessions,  the  lure  of  his  father's  fortune,  not  the  call 
of  his  own  young  heart. 

"Mistakes!  Mistakes!'*  His  lips  formed  the  soundless 
words.  Well,  there  would  be  no  more  mistakes  he  promised 
himself,  and  stirred  again.  He  was  free  from  clouded 
thinking,  his  eyes  were  open.  He  had  been  deceived  by 
his  own  inconsequential  self,  by  life,  by  a  girl,  but  from 
now  on  — 

Of  such  is  the  resilient  assurance  of  youth! 


TIMBER  163 

And  at  a  window  in  the  big  house  Helen  Foraker  sat 
on  the  floor  looking  into  the  summer  night,  ears  closed 
to  the  music  of  the  river  and  the  talk  of  her  pine  trees. 
Words  echoed  in  those  ears,  the  words  of  that  other  girl, 
spoken  that  afternoon. 

"I  am  going  —  to  make  way  for  you.  Miss  Foraker!" 
Bitter,  stinging  words,  but  they  did  not  sting  the  memory. 
They  stirred  some  remote  thing  in  her  heart,  touched 
some  hope,  some  impulse  of  which  she  had  never  until 
today  been  aware. 

He  had  come  as  a  little  boy,  he  had  changed,  had  grown 
up,  and  now  another  woman  had  made  way  for  her.  She 
raised  her  hands  and  looked  at  them  in  the  dim  light  as 
though  they  were  strange  objects.  They  were  strong 
and  splendidly  proportioned,  but  they  were  a  bit  rough, 
a  bit  red. 

"Hers,"  she  whispered,  ''were  so  small  —  so  white  — " 
She  looked  up  quickly,  lips  parted,  as  though  her  words 
and  what  they  indicated  had  frightened  her. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

For  hours  Philip  Rowe  lay  wakeful  in  the  lumpy  bed  in 
the  Commercial  House,  first  tossing  in  a  fever  of  desire, 
later  lying  quietly  while  his  mind  spun. 

Marcia  Murray  had  played  her  hand  well,  superbly 
well  for  a  losing  hand.  She  had  made  the  most  of  what 
John  Taylor  had  told  her,  of  what  she  knew  of  his  father's 
character,  and  of  how  Rowe  reacted  to  the  news  she  let 
him  worm  from  her. 

For  years  Philip  Rowe  had  bent  his  sharp  wits  toward 
gaining  a  place  between  the  Taylors,  father  and  son.  Like 
young  John  he  had  wanted  fortune,  but  he  was  not 
afraid  to  grub.  He  had  been  faithful  to  Luke,  more 
faithful  to  himself;  he  had  studied,  he  had  learned,  he 
had  watched  and  waited.  On  that  morning  in  Detroit 
when  he  took  notes  for  the  framing  of  a  new  will,  he 
believed  he  had  triumphed,  but  the  arrival  of  the  letter 
from  John  telling  that  he  had  turned  his  father's  shabby 
trick  to  profit  knocked  the  foundation  from  beneath  his 
hopes  —  for  a  time.  He  did  not  give  up,  though  for 
another  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  keep  hope  alive 
before  old  Luke's  delight  over  the  change  in  his  boy. 

The  new  will  was  not  drawn,  but  Rowe  knew  that 
behind  Luke's  reaction  to  John's  success  there  was  per- 
sistent skepticism.  With  the  coming  of  John's  letters, 
asking  for  backing  in  this  vaguely  defined  new  scheme, 
that  skepticism  challenged  paternal  favor.  Rowe  under- 
stood, Rowe  watched  closer  than  ever.   He  was  sent  to 

164 


TIMBER  165 

Pancake  to  investigate  with  the  knife  of  his  self-seeking 
unsheathed,  ready  to  strike  at  the  first  weakness  Taylor 
might  show. 

And  now  it  was  so  easy!  Marcia  had  given  him  the 
best  reason  for  hope  that  he  had  encountered  in  weeks. 
John  Taylor,  wanting  to  use  his  father^s  money  for  the 
gain  of  unborn  generations!  He  smiled  as  he  lay  there. 
He  would  see  Luke's  face  darken,  could  hear  his  stinging 
outburst. 

Again  his  mind  went  back  to  Marcia.  All  winter  she 
had  toyed  with  him  clandestinely  in  Florida.  In  Detroit 
he  had  seen  much  of  her  and  the  flirtation  had  been 
brisk  —  and  tonight  for  the  first  time  she  had  surrendered 
her  lips  and  after  she  had  given  to  him  the  information 
which  seemed  to  open  the  way  to  an  attainment  of  his 
dreams. 

He  sat  up  abruptly  and  stared  out  the  window. 

Had  that  been  conscious?  Had  she  realized,  as  he 
realized,  the  possibilities  of  this  change  in  John's  ambition? 
He  drew  a  hand  slowly  through  his  hair  and  laughed 
quietly. 

"You  devil!''  he  whispered  and  laughed  again,  as  if 
he  had  been  fooled,  and  admired  the  wit  that  fooled  him. 

As  surely  as  two  ships  in  a  motionless  sea  move  toward 
one  another,  just  that  certainly  will  like  personalities 
drift  toward  their  kind.  Rogue  finds  rascal;  male  flapper 
unerringly  meets  his  congenial  companion;  intelligence 
discovers  intelligence. 

Marcia  Murray  had  gone  by  the  time  Rowe  awakened 
and  Jim  Harris  was  alone  in  the  dining  room  when  Phil 
entered.    The  men  spoke  gravely  across  the  soiled  linen. 


166  TIMBER 

and  Jim  rattled  his  paper  and  remarked  casually  on  the 
headlines  as  he  would  to  any  stranger.  But  two  hours 
later  they  stood  in  Harris'  room,  looking  down  into  the 
street  where  Helen  stopped  her  noisy  car  to  let  John  Taylor 
out,  and  Harris  looked  at  Rowe  and  winked  as  he  might 
have  winked  at  a  companion  of  years. 

''Quite  a  gal,  what?"  he  chuckled.  "And  maybe  that 
explains  a  lot,  Rowe." 

The  other's  lips  twitched  in  a  sardonic  smile,  and 
though  he  said  nothing  it  was  evident  that  he  understood. 

Taylor  did  not  look  at  the  hotel  register,  for  Henry 
Wales  was  at  the  desk,  struggling  over  one  of  his  pale, 
inflammable  cigars,  else  he  would  have  seen  the  fine 
signature:  ''M.  Murray,  Detroit."  That  might  have 
added  to  the  trouble  that  lurked  in  his  eyes,  aftermath 
of  yesterday's  scene;  or,  to  have  linked  her  name  with 
Rowe's  might  have  been  relief.  No  matter.  John  did  not 
seek  information  from  the  register,  but  asked  his  question 
of  Henry,  who  said  that  Mr.  Rowe  got  in  last  night; 
was  upstairs  now.  "This's  him, "  as  steps  sounded  on  the 
stairs. 

Rowe  and  Harris  came  down  together  and  the  former 
suavely  greeted  John,  assured  and  superior. 

"You  know  Mr.  Harris,  of  course." 

Yes,  Taylor  knew  Harris,  and  as  he  acknowledged  the 
acquaintance  he  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  sensing 
something  of  their  kinship,  but  reading  no  import  there  — 
not  then. 

Harris  went  out.  Taylor  and  Rowe  went  into  the  small 
and  hideous  parlor  of  the  hotel.  They  smoked.  They 
talked  briskly  of  Luke  and  John's  mother,  of  the  lumber 
market,  of  the  season,  Rowe  waiting  like  a  cat  at  a  mouse- 


TIMBER  167 

hole,  Taylor  uneasy.  Face  to  face  with  his  father's 
secretary  he  was  impressed  with  a  lack  of  sympathy  for 
his  new  enthusiasm  and  he  dreaded  getting  at  the  matter 
which  had  brought  Rowe  north. 

Suddenly  Rowe  precipitated  the  subject:  "IVe  been 
with  your  father  over  seven  years,  Taylor.  I  never  saw 
him  quite  so  worked  up  as  he  was  over  your  last  letter. " 

"I  thought  it  must  have  interested  him,  sending  you 
up  here. "  John  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

''Michigan  pine  is  to  him  —  not  like  red  to  a  bull; 
like  freedom  to  a  Bolshevist,  perhaps. " 

Taylor  smiled.  ''He's  always  lived  in  the  past,  with 
the  pine,  Rowe.  I  thought  of  that:  that  it  might  give 
him  a  chance  to  live  in  the  future." 

"Or  to  live  in  the  present?  That  would  be  better. 
Your  father  can't  have  very  many  years  left."  Pause. 

"When  your  letter  came  in,  mentioning  Michigan 
white  pine  in  a  big  tract,  he  forgot  his  cane.  He  walked 
up  and  down  the  room  without  it  —  for  the  first  time  in 
years. " 

"That's  fine!" 

"He  rushed  me  up  here,  not  because  he  wouldn't  take 
your  word" — with  a  cautious  glance  at  John,  "but 
because  he  wants  you  to  speed  up  the  deal.  He'll  go  in 
with  you,  if  the  values  can  be  established;  he  wants 
camps  operating  this  fall." 

John  started. 

"Camps?" 

"Surely.  He  knows  he  hasn't  much  time  left.  It's 
been  his  dream  —  to  finish  as  he  began :  cutting  Michigan 
pine;  a  dream  without  foundation  until  now." 

Taylor  shook  his  head. 


168  TIMBER 

"It's  not  a  question  of  buying  and  logging,"  he  said. 

Rowe  paused  in  the  act  of  striking  a  match. 

"You  don't  want  to  buy?"  he  asked  incredulously. 

"It  couldn't  be  bought,  in  the  first  place;  and  it  isn't 
ready  for  harvest  yet  —  you  see,  Rowe  — " 

He  sat  forward  and  for  half  an  hour  talked  of  Foraker's 
Folly,  of  the  country  adjacent,  of  what  it  had  been,  of 
what  it  was  now;  talked  of  Thad  Parker  and  his  wife's 
death.  He  did  not  mention  Jim  Harris;  some  undefined 
warning  checked  the  bitter  sentence  at  his  teeth  and  he 
went  on  from  Michigan  pine  plains  to  lumber  markets 
and  supply  —  He  was  careful  to  explain  clearly,  to  make 
no  over-statement.  He  went  into  the  history  of  Helen's 
forest,  told  what  he  knew  of  the  forest  practice  thereof, 
of  the  fire  prevention,  of  the  thinnings,  the  income  and 
the  future  plans. 

"I  see,"  said  Rowe  when  he  had  finished,  and  looked 
through  the  window  with  a  malignant  twinkle  in  his  black 
eyes.  "  It's  a  case  of  —  of  taking  some  of  the  money  that 
was  made  from  Michigan  pine  to  grow  more  Michigan 
pine. " 

"Exactly!" 

"And  —  perhaps  making  some  of  that  fortune  perform 
a  duty  which  most  men  wouldn't  recognize:  putting  it 
to  work  to  help  pay  for  some  of  the  ruin  it  made  of  this 
country?" 

"You  get  the  idea,  Rowe!"  Taylor  burst  out  enthu- 
siastically, and  stopped  shortly.  He  did  not  like  the 
straightening  of  the  other's  arm  in  its  coat  sleeve  as 
Rowe  raised  his  cigar  to  his  lips.  It  smacked  of  a  gesture 
of  triumph  and  Rowe  continued  staring  through  the 
window. 


TIMBER  169 

Before  John  could  say  more  Rowe  asked:  "And  how 
much  help  will  you  need?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You  haven't  anything  to  go  on,  then?"  as  if  dis- 
appointed. 

"Not  yet.  You  see,  Miss  Foraker  needs  help  very  badly, 
I  think.  I  —  I  didn't  want  to  hold  out  any  false  hopes 
to  her.  I  wanted  to  be  siu'e  before  I  mentioned  it. " 

"I  see  — "  Once  more  the  gleam  of  triumph  came  into 
his  eye.   "Have  you  had  it  estimated?" 

"No.    I've  gone  on  the  opinion  of  others." 

"Your  father  wired  Tolman,  his  old  cruiser,  to  meet 
me  here.  He  should  be  up  from  Saginaw  today.  It  won't 
take  him  long  to  give  us  something  definite  and  depend- 
able." 

"The  value's  there,  all  right,"  John  said.  "Tolman's 
report  should  satisfy  father.  I  suppose  he'll  want  that  first. ' ' 

He  had  risen. 

"Surely,"  said  Rowe,  lightly  enough.  "A  matter  of  a 
few  days  —  and  it  won't  take  him  long  to  make  up  his 
mind  when  he  hears  the  facts, "  with  a  light  sniff. 

"You'll  stay  on,  then?" 

"I  think  not.  I'll  get  out  as  soon  as  Tolman  gets  in, 
which'U  probably  be  tonight." 

They  halted  on  the  steps  of  the  hotel. 

"I  don't  suppose,  then,  there's  any  chance  of  buying?" 
Rowe  asked. 

"Not  one  in  the  world!" 

"But  if  this  Miss  —  Miss  Foraker  needs  help  so  badly, 
I  should  think—" 

"You  don't  know  her!  She'd  lose  everything  before 
she'd  listen  to  talk  of  selling!" 


170  TIMBER 

^*And  you  wouldnH  try  to  influence  her?" 

John  shook  his  head  emphatically. 

''Buying  is  out  of  the  question,  Phil.  That's  one 
reason  I  want  to  help  her  —  so  no  man  can  ever  come  in 
and  take  advantage  of  her  circumstances,  force  a  sale 
and  ruin  this  plan." 

''She's  converted  you  to  her  idea  all  right!'' 

''By  Jove,  Rowe,  she  has  that!  I'd  as  soon  lose  my 
right  arm  as  see  that  stuff  cut  now. " 

"You  inspire  me!" 

They  parted  and  Rowe  went  inside  to  stand  by  the 
window  watching  John  swing  along  the  sidewalk. 

"Your  right  arm,  eh?  Well  —  by  making  that  crack  — 
about  your  right  arm,  you  may  lose  your  birthright." 

He  examined  the  time  table  hanging  beside  the  desk 
and  then  entered  the  telephone  booth.  His  call  was  for 
Miss  Marcia  Murray,  at  Windigo  Lodge. 

That  afternoon  Jim  Harris  and  Philip  Rowe  drove 
north  from  Pancake.  They  did  not  stop  at  the  Harris 
development  project,  though  they  left  the  main  road 
there.  They  went  on,  along  a  seldom  used  trail,  coming 
eventually  to  the  southwest  corner  of  Foraker's  Folly. 
They  left  the  car  and  crossed  the  fire  line  and  within 
the  shelter  of  the  ranks  of  pine  trees  Rowe  took  a  small 
camera  from  his  pocket.  They  walked  three  miles  or  more 
through  the  forest,  stopping  now  and  then  where  the 
light  and  perspective  were  right  to  preserve  for  the  dis- 
contented eyes  of  Luke  Taylor  the  things  which  theirs 
could  see. 

They  were  together  that  night  at  supper,  together  when 
the  nine-ten  arrived,  bringing  the  small,  silent  Tolman, 


TIMBER  171 

turkey  slung  over  his  shoulder.  They  sat  together  a  half 
hour  later  on  the  baggage  truck  on  the  station  platform, 
waiting  for  the  down-bound  train. 

"It's  good,"  said  Harris,  rolling  his  cigar  with  satis- 
faction, *'to  have  somebody  I  can  talk  to  without  doing 
a  lot  of  rattling  around  and  side-stepping.  I  can  help 
you,  Rowe,  and  I'd  sure  welcome  some  other  substantial 
interests  to  this  country." 

*'I  think  they're  on  their  way,"  said  his  companion. 

Harris  nodded  emphatically. 

*'I  think  so,  too.  I  hope  so  —  And  I'll  work  to  reahze 
that  hope.  Anyhow,  we've  got  a  common  interest. 
I've  been  a  good  servant  for  Pontiac  Power  and  they've 
given  me  my  chance  with  a  big  piece  of  this  development 
proposition,  but,  damn  it  all,  they  expect  me  to  do  all 
their  dirty  work  up  here  without  any  backing.  I've 
protected  their  interests  all  right  and  I've  made  some 
money  for  myself,  but  I  want  to  make  a  lot  of  money, 
Rowe  —  a.  lot  oi  it.  I  need  roads  and  schools  to  build 
up  that  project;  I'm  going  to  have  'em,  too  —  an'  when 
she  sees  her  tax  bill  —  that's  going  to  help  you!  She  won't 
be  able  to  stand  the  racket  —  she  won't  be  able  to  get 
her  breath  when  I  get  through  with  her. " 

He  laughed  good  naturedly. 

"And  she's  alone?   She  hasn't  any  backing?" 

"Not  any  that's  worth  a  damn  except — "  He  turned 
his  head  to  look  up  First  Street  to  where  a  light  showed 
above  the  office  of  the  Banner;  he  flicked  the  ash  from 
his  cigar  and  cleared  his  throat.  "Just  one  old  anarchist, 
Hump  Bryant." 

"The  senator?" 

"Yup,"  sourly.    "Course  he  and  I  ain't  clashed  yet, 


172  TIMBER 

but  it's  bound  to  come.  He  commenced  stirrin'  up  a 
dust  about  timber  taxes  a  few  years  ago.  That  was  all 
right;  he  couldn't  get  anywhere  and  I  wouldn't  have 
kicked  on  that,  anyhow.  But  now  he's  spreadin'  out  and 
's  asking  too  damn  many  questions  about  farms  that  are 
started  and  abandoned  on  these  light  lands.  He  wants  to 
start  some  nutty  land  reform  movement.  We'll  mix,  yet. 
He's  treading  mighty  close  to  my  bunions.  And  he's  lined 
up  with  the  gal,  all  right.  He's  her  port  when  it  blows 
uncomfortable  hard." 

In  the  far  distance  the  down  train  whistled  and  Rowe 
stood  up,  shaking  his  coat. 

"About  this  other,  though?  This  matter  of  taxes? 
You  think  you're  safe  there?  You've  got  the  supervisors 
thinking  your  way?" 

Harris  brushed  ashes  from  his  breast  and  laughed. 

*'Thinkin'f  Hell,  Rowe,  these  yaps  haven't  got  any- 
thing to  think  with.  But  as  for  havin!  them  —  "  He  thrust 
out  one  hand  and  held  it  close  to  the  other's  face,  fist 
clenched.   "Like  that!"  he  said  beneath  his  breath. 

In  other  places  in  Pancake  that  night  Helen  Foraker 
was  in  the  minds  of  men.  In  the  bank  of  Pancake,  for  one, 
where  Ezam  Grainger  sat  at  his  desk,  securities  spread 
before  him,  going  through  the  papers,  making  neat  notes. 
His  tight  little  face  was  harried  and  the  stiff,  straight 
collar  slightly  wilted  from  the  moisture  of  his  wrinkled 
neck,  and  now  and  then  he  muttered  to  himself. 

From  the  stack  of  mortgages  he  took  the  next  document. 
It  was  a  paper  covering  title  to  three  sections  of  Foraker's 
Folly:  it  was  for  $20,000.  It  was  due,  he  saw,  within 
three  weeks.    And  when  he  put  it  down  he  checked  it 


TIMBER  173 

on  a  list  before  him  and  wrote  beside  it  the  one  word: 
*' Renew." 

The  door  opened  and  Doctor  Pelly  came  in.  Ezam 
frowned  over  his  glasses  to  identify  the  newcomer,  then 
started  up  eagerly  and  opened  the  gate  in  the  oflBce  railing. 

*' You've  been  to  the  house,  doctor?"  he  asked 
nervously. 

The  physician  shoved  back  his  derby  wearily  and 
took  a  morsel  of  chewing  tobacco  from  a  pocket  of  his 
unbuttoned  vest,  winking  roguishly,  and  apparently 
unmindful  of  Ezam's  agitation. 

''Better  'n  Blaud's,  Ezam,"  he  said,  taking  a  chair 
and  stretching  out  his  dusty  shoes  with  a  sigh.  "Yeah, 
I've  been  over  to  see  Lily. " 

Grainger  fidgeted  in  his  chair.  His  eyes  showed,  with 
their  eagerness,  a  rare  timidity. 

"You  two  are  all  het  up  over  nothing,"  Pelly  said, 
and  the  other  stiffened  as  though  the  pronouncement 
were  an  affront.  "If  I  was  a  young  doctor  and  not  a 
friend,  I'd  welcome  patients  like  your  wife,  Ezam.  They've 
given  many  a  young  cub  his  start;  nothin'  better  in  the 
way  of  practice  than  a  nervous  woman  with  plenty  of 
money.  Nothing  you  can  do  for  'em,  so  there's  no 
danger  of  their  gettin'  well.  Only  way  you  can  lose  'em 
is  to  fail  to  take  'em  seriously. " 

He  winked  again  and  the  banker  cleared  his  throat. 

"Why  in  Sam  Hill  don't  you  an'  Lily  light  out  of  here?" 
Pelly  asked  bluntly.  "You  can  do  more  for  her  than  I  can, 
Ezam.  You  and  your  car  and  a  part  of  your  income  spent 
liberal  like." 

Grainger  settled  back  in  his  chair,  reassured  by  the 
confidence  in  the  doctor's  tone. 


174  TIMBER 

^'You've  been  here  since  the  hills  were  hollows.  YouVe 
made  your  pile.   What's  the  idea  of  keepin'  on?" 

''Why  —  why,  a  man  must  keep  busy." 

Pelly  negotiated  the  cuspidor  safely. 

"Busy,  hell!  You've  been  busy  enough  to  last  three 
or  four  lifetimes.  The  trouble  with  Lily  is  she  ain't  been 
busy  enough.  If  —  if  there'd  been  more  children  there 
wouldn't  've  been  this  trouble;  if  you'd  call  it  a  job  and 
pulled  out  half  a  dozen  years  ago  you  wouldn't  've  been 
in  this  stew." 

He  took  off  his  derby  and  mussed  his  thin  hair. 

"You  know,  Ezam,"  crossing  his  knees,  "Lily  wasn't 
cut  out  for  Pancake.  It  was  all  right  for  a  while,  but  now 
it's  used  up  her  interest  and  's  after  her  nerve.  Shucks ! 
You're  going  to  dry  up  and  blow  away  in  some  hot  wind 
yourself  if  you  don't  play  a  little!  Sell  your  toy  bank 
or  give  it  away  or  somethin'!  You've  made  your  pile; 
you  can  play  the  rest  of  your  life  and  never  think  twice 
about  a  new  pair  of  shoes  if  prices  never  go  down!  Put 
Lily  in  your  car,  set  fire  to  the  house,  light  out  for  Maine 
for  the  summer,  do  New  York  in  the  fall  and  see  the  boy, 
drop  over  to  California  for  the  winter  and  maybe  give 
Honolulu  the  once-over  in  the  spring.  Come  back  and  look 
in  on  us  in  the  summer  for  a  few  weeks;  on  your  way  again!" 

He  waved  his  hand  elaborately.  "Simple  as  skinnin'  a 
cat!" 

"You  don't  understand,  doctor.   It's  — " 

"Course  I  understand!  You're  in  a  rut  and  think  th' 
world  depends  on  your  runnin'  the  bank  of  Pancake. 
Lily's  in  a  rut,  too,  and  Pancake's  holdin'  her  in  it.  Don't 
try  to  tell  me  there's  anything  to  hold  you  here  but  a 
habit.    You  know,  Ezam,  if  I  was  fixed  like  you  are. 


TIMBER  175 

now — "  He  scratched  his  head  fiercely  and  spit  again 
and  winked  and  ambled  on,  telling  of  how  he  would  play, 
given  the  opportunity. 

The  down  train  stopped  and  went  on.  Jim  Harris 
tapped  on  the  window  and  waved  his  hand  and  passed. 
Talk  within  lagged. 

**Tim  Bur  dick's  wife  's  due  for  another  kid  or  so 
tonight,"  Pelly  said  rising.  "Got  to  get  along."  He 
buttoned  his  vest. 

"Maybe  there's  something  in  what  you  say,"  Ezam 
admitted.  "Our  own  affairs  always  seem  large  —  and 
Lily  —  is  all  I  have,  now  —  she  and  the  bank  — " 

He  looked  through  the  window  and  saw  Harris  mount 
the  steps  of  the  Commercial  House. 

"Widdemer,  the  new  vice-president  of  Pontiac  Power, 
was  in  from  Bay  City  the  other  day.  He'd  be  interested 
to  buy,  I  think." 

Pelly  looked  sharply  at  him. 

"That  so?   He  made  an  offer?" 

"Well,  not  exactly,  he  wanted  me  to  make  one." 

"That's  reasonable.  You  do  it,  Ezam.  There's  nothing 
wrong  with  Lily  now,  but  women  are  funny  machines. 
She's  all  you've  got  —  if  she  was  mine  —  well,  I'd  want 
to  give  her  a  chance."  He  was  grave  then  and  gave 
his  head  a  serious  twist. 

"Pontiac  Power  wants  the  bank,  eh?"  the  doctor 
muttered.  "Well,  they're  all  right  so  far  as  I  know, 
but  between  you  and  me  and  the  rest  of  the  town,  Ezam, 
Harris  don't  wear  very  well."  He  shrugged.  "I'd  hate 
to  think  of  Thad  Parker's  wife  if  I  was  him  —  and  a  lot 
of  other  men  and  women.  Hear  anything  about  his 
new  road  proposition?" 


176  TIMBER 

The  banker  nodded. 

*'He  wants  it  —  bad." 

"He'll  get  it,  then." 

"He  always  has." 

"And  Foraker's  Folly  is  going  to  hold  the  bag?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  he  could  work  that,  but  maybe 
he'll  make  Helen  trouble.  Humphrey  thinks  so.  He's 
feeling  the  supervisors  out,  I'm  told." 

The  doctor's  mouth  shut  grimly. 

"Yes,  Hump  is  getting  busy.   Bless  his  old  hide!" 

"Well,  most  everybody  has  trouble,"  he  remarked. 
"Wish  everybody  had  as  easy  a  way  out  as  you  have, 
Ezam.  Night.  Have  another  voter  for  Pontiac  Power  by 
morning,  I  expect." 

The  door  closed.  Ezam  went  slowly  back  to  his  desk 
and  sat  there,  stiff  and  prim  on  the  chair,  but  his  eyes 
dreamed. 

And  across  the  way  in  his  rooms  above  the  office  of 
the  Banner^  Humphrey  Bryant  rocked  in  a  chair  that 
lurched  sideways  each  time  he  swayed  forward.  His 
shoes  were  off,  spectacles  pushed  back  on  his  head.  The 
windows  were  open  and  he  sat  alone,  looking  out  to  where 
the  lights  of  the  Commercial  House  and  the  unusual 
gleam  from  the  bank  windows  threw  beams  across  the 
white  dust  of  the  street. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  window  was  another  chair, 
which  he  had  drawn  from  its  accustomed  corner  before 
he  sat  down;  a  wooden  rocker,  stuffed  with  calico  pillows 
and  draped  with  the  same  limp  material.  It  had  been  in 
that  comer  ever  since  the  old  man  had  begun  living  alone, 
when  Maggie  Bryant  gave  up  and  was  taken  out  to  the 


TIMBER  177 

plot  of  barren  ground  on  the  edge  of  the  village  and 
buried  beneath  the  jack  pines.  Usually  that  rocker  stood 
in  its  corner  undisturbed  weeks  at  a  time,  but  occasionally 
there  came  a  night,  as  this  one,  when  his  step  on  the 
stairs  was  slow,  when  he  sighed  wearily  as  he  pulled 
off  the  Congress  shoes,  and  at  such  times  he  would  draw 
the  chair  out  to  a  place  by  the  stove  in  winter,  to  this 
place  by  the  window  in  sununer,  and  sit  beside  it  and 
rock,  and  touch  it  now  and  then  and  talk  to  it  —  a  great 
deal. 

"She  seems  more  like  our  own,  Maggie,'*  he  said  after 
a  time.  "I  sat  looking  at  her  today  in  the  office  and  she 
seemed  like  our  own  girl,  not  like  some  other  man's  — 
I  s'pose  that's  'cause  she's  young  and  sweet  and  the 
sort  we'd  like  to  have  had  for  a  daughter  —  if  we'd  ever 
had  any  —  and  she's  in  trouble  too  —  though  she  don't 
know  the  worst  yet  —  and  needs  a  family  — " 

Silence,  with  the  frogs  and  night  insects  far  off. 

"No,  Maggie,"  shaking  his  head,  "it  won't  do  to  hope 
too  much.  Sim  Burns  has  talked  a  lot  and  stirred  folks  up 
and  maybe  if  he  was  inclined  to  back  down  now  he 
couldn't  —  and  save  his  face  — 

"Looked  up  the  assessed  valuation  of  Chief  Pontiac 
Power  today  —  dams,  buildings,  key  positions  was  all 
I  knew  —  they've  got  it  at  two  hundred  thousand  — 
they've  got  six  millions  in  the  county  or  I've  got  six 
legs." 

He  rocked  a  little  more  violently,  the  chair  rumbling 
on  the  thin  carpet. 

"It's  Harris  I'm  afraid  of  —  he's  intelligent  and 
without  scruple  —  which  makes  a  worthy  foe.  He's 
shrewd  —  I've    prodded    around    a    little,    but    they're 


178  \  TIMBER 

mighty  close  with  their  plans."  He  twisted  his  head  and 
folded  his  hands  across  his  stomach. 

"Poor  Helen  —  I  don't  know  —  she's  always  come 
to  me  when  she's  been  in  trouble  and  I've  always  been 
able  to  help  her  —  but  this  time  —  I  won't  have  much 
to  say  —  maybe  nothing — " 

For  long  he  rocked  there,  talking  to  the  memory  of 
the  woman  whose  empty  rocker  was  beside  him.  Late 
at  night  he  rose  and  from  his  vest  pocket  drew  the  worn 
notebook  with  pages  devoted  to  dates  and  hours  and  the 
names  of  men.   He  studied  it  gravely. 

On  the  date  at  the  top  of  a  page  he  placed  a  gnarled 
finger.  "An  ace,"  he  muttered.  "They're  always  the 
first  week  in  the  month,  when  Pontiac  Power  pays  off 
its  other  help."  He  moved  his  finger  to  the  first  column, 
which  recorded  the  time  and  nodded  briskly.  "Another 
ace;  there  never  have  been  two  at  once."  He  scanned 
the  names  written  there  and  riffled  the  pages,  on  each 
of  which  was  set  down  the  personnel  of  the  board  of  super- 
visors. "  A  third  ace  —  they  are  all  there  —  every  time —  " 
He  closed  the  book  and  held  it  between  his  old  palms. 

"And  —  there's  a  card  in  the  hole,  but  I'm  afraid  to 
look  at  it  —  and  threes,  even  aces,  aren't  much  to  bet 
everything  on." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

Again  the  wide  room  in  the  Detroit  House,  with  its 
windows  giving  on  the  formal  garden,  the  group  of  white 
pines  and  the  river.  Luke  Taylor  sat  there,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  pines,  Ustening  to  the  deliberate,  finely 
detailed  report  which  his  private  secretary  gave  him. 
For  an  hour  Rowe  had  talked,  making  no  obvious  effort 
to  stress  any  one  point,  but  watching  the  eyes  that  did 
not  watch  him,  seeing  the  enthusiasm  which  had  been 
in  them  give  way  to  a  cold  light,  watching  that  light 
grow  hot,  seeing  the  old  Hps  work  now  and  then;  and 
prodding,  when  he  knew  that  he  had  struck  to  the  quick. 

He  finished  and  dropped  the  memoranda  he  had  used 
to  the  table  beside  him.  For  an  interval  the  old  man  did 
not  move  and  when  his  position  did  change  it  was  only  a 
turn  of  the  head  to  set  his  hard  gaze  on  the  other's  face. 

^'  You're  sure  of  this,  Rowe?  " 

^'I've  qualified  everything  I  wasn't  sure  of." 

"And  he  said  that,  did  he?  That  he  wanted  to  use  my 
money  for  this  —  this  damn  moonshine?" 

''Just  as  I've  told  you,  sir." 

"And  that  this  was  his  reason:  so  no  man  could  ever 
force  her  to  cut  until  she  gets  good  and  ready?  " 

"Those  were  his  words,  as  I  remember  them,  sir.  He 
said,  too,  that  he'd  rather  lose  his  right  arm  than  see  her 
pine  logged  off." 

Luke  stirred  and  his  palms  tapped  the  arms  smartly 
while  he  licked  his  lips. 

179 


180  TIMBER 

*'So  he^s  commenced  to  worry  about  other  generations, 
has  he?  So  he's  got  to  be  one  of  the  old  women  in 
pants!  I  s'pose  he  thinks  I'm  a  devastator,  that  I  was 
little  better  than  a  crook  when  I  took  off  my  pine!  So 
he  wants  me  to  use  my  money  to  wash  away  my  sins, 
does  he?" 

He  half  rose  from  his  chair  and  a  purple  rage  swept 
into  his  face,  making  his  hard  eyes  watery,  making  his 
lips  tremble.    ^'So  he's  one — " 

A  maid  rapped  and  entered  with  a  package  and  Luke 
broke  short.  But  perhaps  he  had  no  words,  anyhow,  to 
relieve  the  seethe  of  passion  that  was  in  his  heart. 

"For  you,  Mr.  Rowe,"  the  girl  said. 

"These  are  photographs  I  took  yesterday,"  he  said, 
breaking  the  string.  "I  had  the  finishing  rushed  —  I 
knew — " 

"Eh?  What's  this?  Pictures?"  Luke's  anger  was 
neutralized  for  the  moment  by  his  interest.  "Pictures 
of  the  pine,  Rowe?" 

"Yes,  sir  —  see —  " 

He  spread  the  damp  prints  on  the  table  before  him  and 
Luke  with  unsteady  hands  adjusted  his  spectacles  and 
leaned  forward  to  see.  For  a  lengthy  interval  he  scanned 
the  dozen  photographs,  going  from  one  to  the  other, 
dropping  back  to  study  some  feature  that  caught  special 
attention,  scarcely  breathing;  gradually  his  hands  shut 
down  closer  on  the  chair  arms  and  a  snapping  light 
appeared  in  his  blue  eyes,  a  hungry  light,  a  glad  light, 
fierce  in  its  hunger  and  in  its  joy. 

"Pine!"  he  muttered,  almost  reverently.  "Michigan 
White  Pine,  Rowe!  Baby  pine!  Good  God  —  it's  small  — 
but  thick  as  hair  on  a  dog!" 


TIMBER  181 

He  snatched  off  his  spectacles  and  snapped:  "Tobnan 
was  there?" 

''Got  in  last  night." 

"And  when  '11  he  report?" 

"Tomorrow  night,  anyhow." 

Luke  leaned  back  weakly  and  breathed  rapidly.  He 
drew  out  his  great  gold  watch  and  eyed  it. 

"Twelve  o'clock,"  he  whispered.  "That  means  — 
thirty-six  hours."  His  lips  shut  as  decisively  as  the  case 
of  the  watch :  with  the  same  sort  of  definite  snap.  "  Thirty- 
six  hours,"  he  repeated  petulantly.  "But  then  —  we 
can't  rush  this  thing!  We've  got  to  be  sure,  Rowe!  Don't 
you  go  gettin'  my  hopes  up  without  reason!  Hopes  of 
camps  for  the  fall!  God,  with  camps  of  my  own  in 
Michigan  Pine  they  could  throw  that  danm  Floridy  into 
the  gulf!  I  wouldn't  need  their  pesky  sunshine  to  take 
the  chill  of  Michigan  rivers  out  of  my  bones  then,  Rowe! 

"An'  he  said,  did  he,  that  he'd  rather  lose  a  leg  than 
see  that  stuff  cut?" 

"It  was  an  arm,  sir — " 

"Don't  be  so  damned  accurate,  Rowe!  Arm,  eh?  He's 
likely  to  get  one  whole  side  torn  off!" 

At  dusk  that  evening  old  man  Tolman  unpacked  his 
turkey  which  he  had  cached  on  the  bank  of  a  small  creek 
that  ran  across  the  plains  and  into  Foraker's  Folly.  He 
spread  his  blankets,  built  a  very  small  fire,  made  coffee 
and  fried  bacon.  He  worked  deftly,  with  the  precision 
of  a  man  who  has  lived  well  on  little,  scoured  his  dishes 
with  sand,  dropped  a  pair  of  green  sticks  on  the  coals 
and  sat  down  in  the  smoke  to  defy  the  mosquitoes.  He 
lighted  his  pipe  there  and  puffed  slowly,  but  after  several 


182  TIMBER 

moments  his  eyes  went  to  the  ragged  banners  of  the  solid 
pine  beyond  him,  blue-black  against  the  fading  rose  of 
the  sky,  and  his  puflSng  became  more  rapid,  almost 
fevered  and  continued  so  until  a  sputter  from  the  pipe 
bowl  indicated  that  nothing^  remained  but  an  expiring 
coal. 

He  rapped  it  against  the  heel  of  his  boot  and  drew  out 
a  package  of  Peerless.  He  shook  his  head  and  sighed  and 
almost  smiled. 

''I'U  be  blistered!"  he  muttered.  '^'11  be  blistered! 
Pine  —  in  a  stand  like  that !  Old  Luke  '11  go  wild  — 
clean,  plumb,  hog  wild!" 

And  while  Tolman  watched  the  last  glory  of  the  dying 
day,  Helen  Foraker  held  her  canoe  against  the  rushes  on 
the  inside  of  a  sharp  bend  in  the  river,  while  John  Taylor 
in  the  bow  shot  his  fly  out  across  the  swift  current  to 
where  it  milled  against  the  far  bank. 

The  water  above  them  was  old  rose,  like  the  sky,  and  a 
faintly  violet  mist  hung  over  the  stream,  blending  with  the 
bottle-green  of  pine  trees.  The  air  was  cool  and  damp 
and  sweet,  and  from  the  water  back  in  the  rushes,  from 
the  midst  of  the  current  itself.  May  flies  were  hatching, 
coming  to  the  surface  like  bubbles,  spreading  their  new, 
damp  wings,  struggling  a  moment  and  then  rising  into 
the  air  to  mingle  with  millions  of  their  kind,  to  find  mates, 
to  function  and  pass  on  in  their  brief  cycle,  weakened  by 
their  hour  of  life,  dropping  back  to  the  water  which  had 
given  them  life  and  into  which  they  had  put  the  life  of 
their  kind. 

All  about  the  surface  was  broken  as  fish  rose  to  feed  on 
the  insects,  but  the  girPs  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  deep 


TIMBER  183 

pool  across  from  them,  and  Taylor's  eyes  were  there  as 
well,  and  the  fly  went  there  again  and  again  as  a  fish  broke 
the  white-flecked  velvet  blue  of  deep  water  rising  from 
his  lair  to  fall  back  with  mighty  splashes. 

For  twenty  minutes  Taylor  sent  his  fly  in,  picked  it  up, 
dried  it  by  false  casts,  drove  it  forward  and  let  it  rush  over 
the  pool;  and  the  trout  kept  feeding  all  about  that  lure, 
selecting  from  the  myriads  of  flies  that  swept  over  him 
only  those  which  meant  life  —  not  death. 

Rhythmatically,  like  a  machine,  the  man  cast,  and 
finally  the  girPs  eyes  left  the  fish  to  watch  him  in  silhouette 
against  the  sky,  which  had  become  pale  orange.  His 
hat  was  off  and  his  profile  was  cleanly  cut.  She  could 
see  the  ripple  of  arm  and  shoulder  muscles  beneath  his 
shirt,  could  watch  the  good  poise  and  co-ordination  of 
tnmk  with  limb  as  his  whole  splendid  body  went  into  the 
cast.   And  then  the  fish  struck! 

With  an  expulsion  of  breath  like  a  glad,  muffled  cry, 
Taylor's  right  arm  whipped  back,  above  and  behind  his 
head.  The  bamboo  bent  in  a  stiff  arc.  His  left  arm  tooled 
the  line  carefully  as  he  gave  out,  as  he  took  in,  and  the 
line  itself  where  it  disappeared  into  the  current,  laid  back 
fin  after  fin  of  silvered  water  as  the  trout  plowed  here  and 
there  in  his  depths  in  frantic  effort  to  be  free.  Upstream, 
downstream,  across  and  back;  sulking,  moving  slowly, 
rushing  mightily;  coming  to  the  surface  and  showing  his 
dorsal  fin  as  he  dived  again;  roving  the  bottom  for  snags 
or  rocks  that  would  cut  the  leader;  for  ten  minutes  the 
fish  fought  with  the  nobility  which  only  the  speckled 
trout  puts  into  his  will  to  live,  and  then  he  came  gasping 
to  net,  looking  like  a  dying  flame  with  the  crimson  of  his 
fins,  the  rich  coloring  of  his  belly. 


184  TIMBER 

"Good  work!"  Helen  cried  and  dropped  her  paddle. 
"A  beauty!  He'll  go  two  pounds.   And  you  did  it  well!" 

Her  eyes  danced,  her  red  lips  parted  in  a  glad  smile  and 
there  was  an  excitement  in  her  face,  which  Taylor  had 
never  seen  there  before,  the  enthusiasm  for  play,  and  as  he 
looked  at  her,  leaning  forward,  one  arm  stretched  out  to 
touch  the  trout,  he  saw  a  new  part  of  her  to  dove-tail  with 
her  capability  at  her  work,  her  tenderness  with  children: 
she  was  at  that  moment,  a  laughing,  spontaneous  young 
animal,  lost  in  admiration  of  the  fish  he  had  caught,  and 
in  admiration  of  him.  He  knew  this  last;  he  could  see  it 
in  her  eyes. 

They  went  downstream  under  the  stars,  Helen  in  the 
bow,  singing  in  her  clear  voice  the  chant  of  the  old  French 
boatmen,  picked  up  when  she  was  a  little  girl  from  some 
woodsman. 

They  dragged  the  canoe  out  together,  and  their  hands 
touched.  It  was  the  first  time  their  flesh  had  met  and  a 
queer  thrill  ran  through  Taylor's  body.  He  took  his 
catch  and  walked  with  Helen  to  the  door.  She  bade  him 
good-night  and  went  within  very  quietly.  He  watched 
her  and  moved  on  to  the  men's  shanty,  heedless  of  Pauguk 
who  whined  at  her  chain's  length  as  he  passed. 

Jim  Harris  was  inside,  talking  to  Goddard.  His  speech 
was  a  bit  louder  than  usual,  he  was  a  trifle  eager,  it 
seemed  to  John,  to  have  it  known  that  he  had  come  to 
inquire  after  teams  that  would  soon  be  finished  with  the 
hardwood  logs;  a  few  men  and  horses  were  needed  at 
the  lower  dam,  he  said. 

Beauchamp,  the  cook,  and  Harris  and  another  gathered 
about  Taylor  and  commented  on  his  catch.  Goddard  did 
not  leave  his  bunk  where  he  sat,  elbows  on  knees,  glowering 


TIMBER  185 

at  John.  Black  Joe,  who  was  sewing  a  button  on  his 
shirt,  looked  up  and  grunted  in  disdain  as  Taylor  proudly- 
held  up  the  big  trout.  The  cook  took  the  fish  to  the 
kitchen.  Harris  sat  down  beside  Goddard  and  talked. 
Two  men  remained  with  Black  Joe  who,  as  he  drew  thread 
clumsily  through  the  flannel,  resumed  the  talk  that 
Taylor  had  interrupted. 

"Now  how  about  this  here  gold  mine  of  Paul's,  Joe?" 
one  of  them  asked. 

The  old  fellow  puffed  on  his  short  pipe  a  moment  and 
then  began  to  talk,  lowly,  haltingly,  and  those  with  him 
listened  eagerly,  set  smiles  on  their  faces. 

It  was  another  Paul  Bunion  story,  Taylor  knew,  and 
watched  and  tried  to  overhear,  but  could  not.  Ever  since 
coming  into  this  country  he  had  heard  references  to  Paul 
Bunion.  "Who  is  he?"  he  had  once  asked  Helen  and 
she  had  laughed:  "The  Munchausen  of  the  forests,  my 
father  used  to  say.  He  also  said  that  Paul  would  be  in 
living  literature  when  the  Baron  was  forgotten. " 

That  explained  Uttle,  but  Taylor  gathered  that  Joe 
was  an  authority  on  the  great  Paul.  Night  after  night 
he  would  sit  with  a  few  of  those  who  were  beyond  his 
scorn  listening  while  he  ambled  on.  He  was  jealous  of 
his  tales,  though,  reserving  them  only  for  those  who  stood 
in  his  favor.  Taylor  had  tried  to  join  the  group,  but  each 
attempt  had  caused  Joe  to  drop  into  sullen  silence,  broken 
only  when  John  withdrew. 

As  he  fussed  aimlessly  about  his  bunk,  Taylor  watched 
Harris  and  Goddard.  Jim  talked  confidential^,  easily, 
and  Goddard  listened,  smoking  a  cigar,  evidently  flattered 
by  the  attention.  But  that  attention  was  not  wholly  for 
Goddard  because  Harris'  eyes  went  from  time  to  time  to 


186  TIMBER 

Black  Joe  and  when  the  two  who  Hstened  to  the  story 
of  the  gold  mine  laughed  heartily  Harris  stopped  talking 
altogether  and  smiled  and  a  certain  restlessness  showed 
in  his  eyes. 

Beauchamp  came  in  and  prepared  to  shave.  Harris 
rose  and  walked  toward  Joe's  bunk. 

"Joe,  have  a  cigar,"  he  said. 

The  woodsman  stopped  talking.  He  eyed  Harris  slowly 
as  he  had  at  first  eyed  John  Taylor.  He  removed  his  pipe 
and  spat  and  said: 

''Who?  Me?  I  promised  my  mother  I'd  never  smoke 
'em!" 

Harris  rumbled  a  laugh,  but  flushed  slightly,  for  the 
contempt  in  Joe's  manner  was  unmistakable. 

*'A11  right  then,  I'll  keep  'em  for  the  wicked,  Joe.  Go 
on  with  your  story,"  sitting  down. 

''Story?  What  story?"  Joe  asked,  black  eyes  blazing 
and  turned  away  and  put  the  gnawed  pipe  stem  between 
his  teeth  and  smoked  in  confusing  silence. 

Harris  attempted  to  recover  his  poise,  but  he  did  not 
urge  a  resumption  of  the  tale,  and  soon  was  gone,  followed 
as  far  as  his  waiting  car  by  Goddard. 

Beauchamp  was  laughing  as  he  lathered  his  face  and 
winked  at  John. 

"Py  gosh,  Jim  Harris  she  don'  nefer  get  Joe  to  tell 
heem  'bout  Paul  Bunion."  He  lifted  two  fingers  of  the 
hand  which  held  the  razor.  "For  two  year,  now,  he 
come  here  for  Joe  to  tell  heem  'bout  Paul.  Wan  taam, 
before  she  go  dry,  he  make  Joe  drunk  an'  try,  but  Joe  — " 
shaking  his  head,  "she  don'  gife  wan  damn  for  Jim  Harris. 
She  nefer  say  wan  word  'bout  Paul  when  he's  'roun'. 

"I  tell  heem,  Joe  you  wan  beeg  fool.    Jim  Harris  pay 


TIMBER  187 

you  money  for  to  tell  'bout  Paul  —  but  Joe  she  don'  care 
'bout  money.  Py  gosh,  I  can'  maak  moch  from  dat  man, 
Joe  — 

"An'  Jim  Harris  —  py  damn,  dat's  all  he  wan'  dat  he 
don'  git :  Joe,  for  to  tell  heem  'bout  Paul  Bunion !  Efery- 
body  in  Pancake,  she  know  what  Harris  wan'  an'  what  he 
can'  get!"  He  shrugged  and  lifted  the  razor  to  his 
cheek. 

Jim  had  driven  away  and  Goddard  stood  alone.  He 
glanced  within  the  men's  shanty  and  saw  Taylor  talking 
to  the  cook.  One  of  the  great  hands  at  his  side  closed 
slowly  and  he  walked  away  toward  the  big  house  where 
Helen  sat  at  her  desk,  turning  idly  the  pages  of  a  limiber 
trade  journal. 

''Did  you  have  a  good  time  —  fishing?"  he  asked. 

She  had  looked  up  at  his  entrance;  at  his  tone  she 
dropped  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  Milt.   We  made  a  nice  catch." 

He  laughed  shortly.  "I  notice  you  haven't  took  time 
to  fish  with  me  this  spring. " 

"No,  we've  both  been  very  busy." 

"Yeah  —  both  of  us.  But  you  ain't  too  busy  to  go  out 
with  Taylor." 

A  quick  flush  appeared  in  her  cheeks.  "That's  entirely 
uncalled  for  Milt.  You  do  a  lot  lately  to  make  it 
unpleasant  for  me.  I  don't  think  it's  fair  in  you  and  I 
don't  like  it  because  —  you  haven't  the  right." 

The  hand  at  his  side  closed  tightly  again.  "No  right," 
he  growled.  "Maybe  not.  Before  he  come  up  here, 
though,  you  used  to  think  enough  of  me. " 

"I  thought  of  you  then  as  I  do  now:  as  a  good  friend, 
as  a  loyal  friend,  as  a  man  who  has  done  more  for  me  in 


188  TIMBER 

the  actual  work  than  any  one  else."  Her  manner  was 
very  positive. 

"Nothing  else?"  he  demanded. 

She  looked  down  and  shook  her  head.  "Nothing  else, 
Milt.  You  should  know  that.  You  have  tried  to  persuade 
me  to  think  —  differently  of  you.  It  —  it  has  made  it 
very  hard  for  me,  because  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you,—  and 
I  can't—" 

"And  yet  you'll  run  around  with  this  —  this  — " 
gesturing  toward  the  men's  shanty. 

"Which  is  my  own  affair,"  she  said  simply.  "I'm 
sorry,  but  there  must  be  a  limit  to  what  I  let  you  say." 

"Maybe  that's  what  interests  me,"  he  said  sharply, 
narrowing  his  eyes  and  leaning  over  the  desk.  "Maybe 
I'm  interested  because  it's  your  own  affair,  and  what 
happens  to  you  —  means  a  lot  to  me,"  voice  dropping 
to  a  whisper.  "I  don't  want  you  to  make  any  mistakes 
that  you  will  be  sorry  for. " 

His  heart  was  racing,  hot  words  of  jealousy  clamored 
to  be  out,  but  he  repressed  them,  and  searching  wildly 
for  some  device  which  would  grip  her  interest  and  give 
him  different  standing  in  her  eyes,  he  threw  out  that 
empty  threat. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

His  baseless  innuendo  had  struck  the  mark!  She 
believed  that  it  was  backed  by  something  other  than  his 
helpless  jealousy.   He  flushed  hotly  and  stood  erect. 

"Never  mind  what  I  mean,"  he  said.  "Maybe  I  can't 
tell  you  —  just  tonight.  I  don't  want  to  say  anything 
against  anybody  until  I'm  sure." 

"But  you  make  hints!"  insistently. 

"Yes,  I'd  do  a  lot  to  help  you,  Helen." 


TIMBER  189 

She  rose  and  moved  about  the  desk  toward  him,  placing 
a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  He  dropped  his  gaze  and  plucked 
at  a  paper. 

"I  know  that,  Milt,"  she  said.  "I  know  you'd  do 
anything  for  me.  There  is  —  there's  nothing  between 
Mr.  Taylor  and  me.  Please  believe  that."  Her  color  had 
mounted. 

''I  know  there  ain't  —  much  —  yet — "  he  mumbled. 
"I  don't  want  there  to  be,  because  — " 

"I'm  waiting,"  when  he  did  not  finish. 

He  looked  up  at  her  and  was  again  assured  when  he 
saw  the  sober  query  in  her  face. 

"So  am  I  —  waitin'  to  be  sure.  But  I'd  take  a  chance 
at  being  wrong,  at  being  unfair  to  anybody  for  you  — 
unfair  to  anybody,  let  alone  him!" 

An  hour  later  the  lights  were  out  and  in  the  men's 
shanty  snores  were  heavy,  but  Goddard  lay  awake, 
flushed  with  helpless  anger.  It  was  little  satisfaction  to 
know  that  his  groundless  warning  had  troubled  Helen. 
The  time  might  come  when  he  would  be  called  to  explain 
and  he  was  seized  with  an  agony  of  helplessness. 

There  in  the  lamplight,  she  had  looked  so  lovely,  so 
wonderful!  She  was  not  his  kind,  she  was  finer,  gentler, 
of  different  stuff,  but  for  five  years  he  had  served  her 
loyally,  had  worked  night  and  day,  had  fought  for  her 
on  occasion;  and  through  these  years  he  had  come  to 
covet  her,  come  to  picture  without  good  reason  her  life 
united  with  his.  There  had  been  no  opposition,  no 
competition  except  the  gulf  between  them  until  this 
Taylor  came.  From  the  first  he  had  sensed  the  fact 
that  the  city  man  was  nearer  Helen  than  he  ever  could 


190  TIMBER 

come,  and  he  loved  as  he  had  never  loved  before  —  and 
he  hated  as  he  did  not  know  he  could  hate. 

He  clutched  the  blankets  in  his  great  hands  and  twisted 
them.  There  was  so  little  he  could  do!  But  he  did  not 
know  that  over  by  a  quiet  stream  old  man  Tolman  lay 
awake,  staring  up  at  the  stars,  marvelling  at  what  he 
had  seen  that  day;  or  that  Luke  Taylor  muttered  and 
cocked  his  head  to  hear  the  breeze  sounding  in  the  white 
pines  that  stood  in  his  garden  and  recalled  those  photo- 
graphs he  had  seen  that  day,  or  that  Philip  Rowe  sat 
in  his  room  smoking,  thin  lips  drawn  in  a  strange  smile 
of  triumph. 

These  he  could  not  know,  and  he  did  not  know  that 
in  another  bunk  in  that  same  building  another  man  lay 
sleepless,  hearing  again  the  bitter  words  of  Marcia  Murray, 
quailing  from  them,  suffering,  and  feeling  that  pain  and 
humiliation  absolved  by  the  touch  of  Helen  Foraker's 
hand  on  his,  beside  the  Blueberry  that  evening. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

So  passed  Tuesday.  And  Wednesday  passed,  fair  and 
clear  and  peaceful  overhead  and  in  the  forest.  The  last 
of  the  rafts  were  coming  down  the  river  without  trouble 
or  delay;  the  band-saw  in  the  mill  ate  steadily  through 
the  good  logs,  the  piles  of  lumber  beside  the  track  grew. 
There  was  no  hint  of  trouble  and  the  shaking  that  John 
Taylor's  very  soul  had  undergone  in  his  scene  with  Marcia 
steadily  subsided  under  three  influences:  the  first  was 
the  fact  that  he  had  made  peace  with  himself;  the  second, 
that  he  had  won  his  father's  trust  and  interest  in  his  plan, 
so  in  a  matter  of  days  he  would  be  able  to  tell  Helen 
Foraker  that  the  threat  which  Sim  Bums  held  over  her 
could  be  met  with  a  laugh;  and  the  third  influence  was 
the  girl  of  the  forest  herself,  whose  charm  and  consequence 
grew  hourly,  bringing  a  strange  combination  of  peace  and 
restlessness. 

But  Wednesday  evening  Jim  Harris'  car  rolled  out 
toward  Foraker's  Folly  again  and  picked  up  Tolman  who, 
his  turkey  packed,  stood  beside  the  unused  road  waiting. 
Two  hours  later,  the  old  cruiser  sat  in  the  telephone  booth 
in  the  Commercial  House,  pouring  his  information  over 
the  wire  into  the  ear  of  Luke  Taylor,  who  clutched  the 
receiver  and  strained  forward,  whose  eyes  glittered 
avidly  as  he  listened  and  whose  responses  were  short, 
profane  and  joyful. 

Thursday  afternoon  John  was  in  Pancake,  billing  out 

191 


192  TIMBER 

another  shipment  of  his  lumber,  arranging  for  more  cars. 
He  finished  his  errand  and  stood  in  the  small  ticket 
office  making  some  necessary  notes  when  the  telegraph 
key  set  up  an  insistent  clamor.  The  agent  cut  in  and 
answered,  slipped  blanks  into  the  typewriter  and  began 
to  take. 

John  started  out. 

"Wait  —  this  's  for  you,''  the  man  said. 

Taylor  closed  the  door  and  stood  beside  the  operator's 
chair,  reading  his  name  and  address  as  it  went  down, 
letter  by  letter. 

And  then  came  this,  a  letter,  a  syllable,  a  word  at  a 
time: 

"Rowe  says  you  would  rather  lose  right  arm  than  see 
pine  you  brought  to  my  attention  cut.  If  you^want  to 
help  me  in  logging  this  place  I  will  use  you.  if  not,  get 
away  from  the  wheels.  They  are  going  to  go  round  and 
you  will  regret  reckless  offer  of  anatomy  in  name  of 
moonshine. —  L.   Taylor." 

He  took  the  yellow  sheet  and  stared  blankly  at  the  typed 
message.  He  heard  the  operator  say,  "Sign  this,"  in  a 
voice  that  came  from  a  great  distance.  He  walked  out  of 
the  station  and  stood  on  the  platform,  reading  the  warning 
again,  numb  and  bewildered. 

Luke  Taylor  wanted  Foraker's  Folly!  His  father,  who 
had  experienced  his  highest  moments  when  his  men  were 
taking  pine  forests  fronii  the  Michigan  valleys,  who  had 
grumbled  since  John  could  remember  that  there  was  no 
joy  in  living,  who  had  dreamed  aloud  of  Michigan  pine, 
who  had  wistfully,  irately  voiced  the  futile  wish  that 
he  might  finish  his  years  as  he  began  his  ascendency  to 
fortune,  harvesting  more  of  the  pine  which  had  made 


TIMBER  193 

him  a  power!  His  father  saw  happiness  at  last  in  Helen 
Foraker's  pine!  His  father  wanted  to  do  that  which  John 
had  wanted  to  make  forever  impossible!  His  father, 
greedy,  stubborn,  powerful  even  in  his  wornout  body, 
wanted  to  possess  and  cut  that  timber,  making  of  the 
forest  lumber  and  blackened  slashing! 

He  stopped  on  the  walk  and  read  the  message  again, 
and  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  stared  blankly 
across  the  street.  He  did  not  see  the  office  of  the  Banner 
or  the  poolroom  or  any  of  the  flimsy,  familiar  buildings. 
He  saw  his  father's  face,  saw  the  ruthless  light  in  his  eyes, 
saw  the  thin  lips  stretch  in  a  greedy  smile,  and  heard  his 
hard  voice  saying  the  things  that  had  come  to  him  by 
telegraph. 

*'0h,  God,"  he  muttered.  '*I  wanted  to  help  —  and 
I  brought  this  on  her!" 

He  went  into  the  bank  to  make  a  deposit.  He  heard 
Ezam  Grainger  say  to  a  farmer: 

''No,  she  isn't  so  well  today  —  yes,  I've  sold  and  am 
going  to  take  her  right  out  of  here, "  and  clear  his  throat 
and  blink  rapidly  to  keep  the  mist  of  worry  from  his  eyes. 

Taylor  gave  no  heed,  no  more  did  he  know  what  Jim 
Harris  said  when  they  met  on  the  bank  steps,  or  what 
Henry  Wales  said  when  he  entered  the  Commercial  House 
to  call  Detroit  by  telephone. 

It  seemed  hours  before  the  connection  was  made.  He 
walked  the  office  floor  and  read  and  re-read  that  telegram; 
the  paper  grew  wet  from  the  nervous  moisture  of  his  fingers 
and  finally  the  letters  themselves  blurred  before  his  eyes 
as  the  import  of  what  he  had  done  revealed  its  awful 
possibilities.  Better  anything  than  this:  Luke  Taylor 
the  destroyer,  with  his  will  and  fortune,  set  against  Helen 


194  TIMBER 

Foraker,  who  played  a  lone  hand  for  an  mtangible  thing 
like  an  ideal. 

The  telephone  bell  whirred. 

''Yes,  Taylor?" 

It  was  Rowers  voice. 

"I  was  calling  father,  Phil." 

"He  understands  that.  He  wants  me  to  talk  for  him." 

"Isn't  he  there?" 

"Right  here  beside  me." 

"Then  let  me  talk  to  him,  please!" 

Pause.  He  heard  Rowe's  voice,  much  fainter.  "He 
insists  on  talking  to  you,  sir. "  Another  voice,  but  he  could 
not  distinguish  the  words;   then: 

"Your  father  still  wants  to  know  if  you  think  more  of 
that  pine  forest  than  you  do  of  your  right  arm?" 

"I  —  I  haven't  changed  my  mind  since  you  were  here. " 

A  wait,  hollow,  indistinct  voices.  "I  will  be  up  again 
Sunday  —  your  father  says  if  you  change  your  mind 
you  may  talk  it  over  with  me  then.  I  have  authority  to 
deal  for  him." 

His  voice  was  very  even,  impersonal,  but  somehow  it 
stung  John  as  though  it  had  been  a  crow  of  triumph. 
He  waited  a  moment,  breathing  rapidly. 

"Very  well,  Rowe,"  he  said  finally.  "I  will  talk  to  you 
Sunday.     Good-bye. " 

He  walked  from  the  hotel  and  Humphrey  Bryant 
appeared  in  the  doorway  of  his  office  rather  excitedly  . 

"Going  back  soon?" 

"As  quick  as  I  fill  up  with  gas." 

"Stop  in,  will  you?   I've  a  note  for  Helen." 

He  turned  back  into  the  office,  drawing  his  spectacles 
down  from  his  forehead,  thin  white  hair  standing  high 


TIMBER  195 

above  his  pink  scalp.  He  seemed  hurried  and  flustered 
and  when  Taylor  returned  for  the  message  he  thought  the 
bright  blue  eyes  looked  at  him  almost  with  hostility. 
Surely,  trouble  was  in  them,  and  the  old  editor  was  curt 
in  his  manner. 

All  the  way  home  Taylor  drove  doggedly.  A  part  of 
him  wanted  to  turn  back,  to  go  away,  to  leave  this  mess 
which  he  had  brought  down  upon  Foraker^s  Folly.  Oh, 
he  had  wanted  to  help,  and  he  had  brought  the  ideal 
which  was  represented  in  the  pine  forest  face  to  face  with 
a  himgry  power  which  was  its  worst  enemy!  He  had 
wanted  to  help  and  had  done  the  worst  he  could  have 
done  by  conscious  planning.  He  had  wanted  to  lighten 
the  burden  on  Helen's  shoulders  and  had  increased  it  to 
a  crushing  weight  —  so  he  wanted  to  run  —  to  run. 

That  was  the  mean  part  of  him,  that  was  the  impulse 
which  was  out  of  the  question.  There  was  but  one  thing 
for  him  to  do:  Tell  her,  face  the  fact,  stand  beside  her  and 
fight  his  father  —  with  his  inexperience  and  bare  hands. 

A  sudden  emptiness  came  about  his  middle,  as  though 
strength  had  drained  from  his  vitals. 

Helen  was  not  at  home  when  he  entered,  prepared  to 
blurt  out  his  confession.  He  left  the  note  from  Bryant 
on  her  desk  and  went  out,  so  absorbed  in  his  problem 
that  he  even  forgot  Pauguk  and  went  too  close  and  had 
to  leap  beyond  her  reach  as  she  rushed  at  him,  snarling 
wickedly. 

He  could  not  eat  that  night,  and  Beauchamp  made 
much  of  his  bad  appetite,  complaining  half  in  fun  as  he 
brought  food  to  the  table. 

''Ah  well,"  the  Frenchman  said  finally,  nodding  his 


196  TIMBER 

head.  "I  unnerstan',  M'sieur  Taylor.  Eet  iss  spring. 
All  de  bird,  she  buiP  nest;  all  de  animal,  she  maak  lofe. 
An'  a  yo'ng  man,  she  feel  her  'eart  turn  ofer,  too.   Eh?" 

He  laughed  and  others  laughed  and  John  flushed.  He 
was  conscious  of  Goddard's  eyes  on  him  with  glowering 
ill  temper. 

Helen  did  not  return  till  after  dusk.  Taylor  had  been 
walking  the  river  bank,  miserable  and  at  once  impatient 
and  filled  with  dread.  He  saw  her  standing  beside  her 
desk,  scanning  intently  a  single  sheet  of  paper.  He  ran 
forward.  His  rap  was  most  perfunctory;  he  opened  the 
screen  and  stepped  in. 

She  turned  and  faced  him  and  he  saw  fright  in  her  face 
that  chilled  his  heart.  Just  for  that  instant,  and  then  she 
turned  and  went  unsteadily  across  the  room  saying : 

"I  can't  talk  to  you  —  Mr.  Taylor  —  tonight." 

Did  she  know?  Was  she  aware  of  what  he  had  done? 
He  managed  to  say: 

"Wait,  Helen!"  There  was  that  in  his  husky  tone 
which  checked  her  against  the  far  door.  Breath  clogged 
in  his  throat,  but  he  heard  himself  saying:  "Tell  me  why 
you  can't  talk  to  me." 

He  crossed  the  room  toward  her,  bound  to  hold  her 
there  if  necessary,  to  tell  his  wretched  story  quickly,  to 
save  himself  not  at  all,  and  to  offer  all  he  had  to  offer  as 
help. 

He  was  decisive,  showing  a  strength  she  had  not  seen 
before,  a  power  which  held  her  there.  He  stopped  within 
arm's  length  of  the  girl  and  looked  into  her  face.  He  saw 
no  anger,  no  resentment;  just  misery.  She  was  unpoised, 
she  was  shaken,  like  a  little  girl  who  has  been  badly 
frightened. 


TIMBER  197 

"What  is  it?"  he  demanded.  "Why  can't  you  talk  to 
me.  I  must  know  —  because  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you." 

He  spoke  swiftly,  with  desperate  assurance,  but  the 
desperation  did  not  carry  to  her:  only  the  assurance. 
He  seemed  strong,  big  and  so  much  in  earnest,  with 
no  humility,  no  deference.  She  held  the  paper  she  had 
been  reading  toward  him  with  a  gesture  that  was  almost 
timid. 

"That  explains,"  she  said,  and  stood  there,  fingers 
spread  on  her  breast  while  he  moved  nearer  the  light  to 
read. 

It  was  the  note  he  had  brought  from  Humphrey  Bryant, 
written  on  a  sheet  of  news  print. 

''Dear  Helen:  —  I  can't  trust  the  telephones  and  must 
stay  on  the  job  to  do  what  I  can,  so  this  news  must  go  to 
you  by  note.   Gird  yourself  for  fighting  and  trouble. 

''A  special  meeting  of  the  supervisors  is  called  for  Satur- 
day, set  ahead  two  weeks,  I  understand,  solely  because  I 
have  been  trying  to  head  it  off.  They  will  take  action  to 
submit  the  bonds  for  roads  and  a  new  court  house  at  a 
July  election.  If  this  goes  through,  it  will  be  hard  to  stop 
their  pillaging,  for  we  have  not  been  mistaken  in  the 
property  which  they  expect  will  pay  the  bill. 

''To  make  matters  worse,  Harris  got  wind  of  my  activi- 
ties against  the  proposal  and  has  invited  the  entire  board 
to  a  fishing  party  at  the  lower  dam.  They  are  having  a 
high  time,  well  guarded.  I  daren't  leave  town  to  see  you 
for  fear  of  missing  a  chance  to  get  at  them  when  he  is 
not  there. 

"Troubles  never  come  singly.  Pontiac  Power  has  bought 
Grainger  out.  Your  mortgage  is  due  this  month  and  I  am 


198  TIMBER 

trying  to  get  him  to  renew  it  himself  before  he  leaves  town 
with  his  wife,  who  is  sick. 

''There  is  no  use  playing  ostrich  because  a  storm  is 
coming.  Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip  and  get  mad!  If  we  keep 
mad  enough,  we  can  weather  this  crisis  and  we  know 
nothing  worse  can  happen. —  Yours  to  the  last  ditch,  H.  B." 

Taylor  looked  up,  brows  gathered,  eyes  reflecting  the 
bewilderment  that  had  come  over  him. 

" — nothing  worse  can  happen,"  he  quoted,  looking 
again  at  the  page. 

She  began  to  speak,  but  he  could  not  hear  her. 

Nothing  worse  could  happen!  Ah,  the  chincanery  of 
Jim  Harris,  the  scheming  of  these  backwoods  politicians, 
the  misfortune  of  having  her  mortgage  in  unsympathetic 
hands  were  inconsequential  details  compared  to  what  he 
had  to  tell  her. 

Her  words  swam  into  his  consciousness: 

" —  so  IVe  thought  all  along  it  was  something  to  meet  — 
later.  I  might  have  known  that  they  wouldn't  delay, 
that  it  would  come  now,  not  next  month,  not  next  year  — 
but  somehow,"  spreading  her  hands  "I  haven't  had  the 
courage  to  bring  it  close  and  tell  myself  that  the  danger 
was  here  —  and  real.  I've  grown  a  little  tired  like  my 
father  grew  tired;  I've  had  a  lot  to  meet  —  and  now  this 
comes — " 

Her  eyes  were  very  wide  as  she  looked  into  his  and  shook 
her  head  slowly;  her  chin  trembled. 

^'And  this  other  —  if  I  can't  renew  that  mortgage — " 
with  a  helpless  lift  of  one  hand.  ''Twenty  thousand 
dollars!  I  couldn't  raise  a  thousand!  And  my  father's 
work  —  our  hopes  —  oh,  I  feel  so  much  alone!" 

Her  arms  were  half  extended  as  she  stopped.     She 


TIMBER  199 

averted  her  face,  and  for  a  moment  Taylor  stood  there 
stunned.  She  was  broken  by  what  Bryant  had  written 
her — and  if  he  should  tell  what  he  had  come  to  tell? 
That  would  be  cruelty  now,  he  told  himself;  it  would 
be  sheer  heartlessness  not  to  spare  her  further  suffering 
for  a  few  hours  at  least  —  and  while  he  waited,  helpless 
to  help  her,  he  saw  her  clutch  her  fists  and  a  low  moan 
escaped  her  lips. 

The  sound  was  like  the  bite  of  a  lash  and  he  stepped 
forward,  reached  out  his  hands,  checked  the  gesture  and 
left  them  hovering  over  her  shoulders.  For  an  .instant  he 
was  so  and  then  drew  back,  afraid  to  touch  her,  lost, 
knowing  no  word  to  say,  no  move  to  make;  but  a 
ragged  breath  caught  in  her  throat  and  he  found  his 
palms  on  her  arms,  gripping  roughly,  turning  her  about, 
and  the  feel  of  her  flesh  under  his  fingers  clarified  every- 
thing. 

''Helen!"  he  cried.  "Helen!  you're  not  alone!  I'm 
here,  with  you.  I'm  going  to  stay.  I'm  going  to  help  you ! " 

She  looked  up  in  wonder  at  the  manner  of  his  voice. 
He  had  spoken  no  boast,  no  empty  promise;  there  was  a 
modesty,  a  simpHcity  about  him  which  indicated  strength, 
ability,  earnestness,  and  she  read  those  qualities  in  his  face. 
For  the  first  time  she  saw  maturity  there,  for  the  first  time 
she  was  almost  in  awe  of  him. 

She  felt  his  hands  gripping  her  arms.  She  felt  herself 
drawn  forward,  close  and  closer  to  him,  and  put  out  her 
hands,  not  to  hold  her  body  away,  but  to  place  them 
against  his  breast,  pressing  her  finger  tips  into  his  flesh. 
Her  lips  were  parted,  breath  light  and  quick.  She  felt  his 
arms  go  about  her  almost  roughly,  saw  his  face  darken 
and  heard  his  voice,   thick  and  husked  with  passion: 


200  TIMBER 

"I  won^t  let  them  harm  you!"  he  said  tensely.  "I'll 
stand  by  you.  I  don't  know  much  —  ytt;  I'm  young,  but 
I'm  strong  and  with  you  to  %ht  for  —  I  can  do  anything! " 

He  trembled.  She  was  there  in  his  arms,  submissive, 
her  hands  were  against  his  body  in  a  strange  caress  and 
he  felt  her  limbs  touching  his,  warm  and  firm.  He  closed 
his  eyes  and  shook  his  head  as  though  fearful  that  this 
would  not  endure  a  moment  of  sightlessness;  but  she 
was  there  when  he  opened  them.  This  was  real;  this 
was  no  vagary  of  his  distressed  mind  —  and  he  laughed. 

That  laugh  roused  Helen  and  she  drew  back,  breaking 
his  embrace  slowly,  staring  at  him  as  though  this  that 
he  had  done  frightened  her. 

"John!"  she  said  under  her  breath.  "John?  What  is  — 
this?" 

She  backed  away. 

"Don't  you  know?"  he  muttered.  She  did  not  speak, 
and  he  advanced  slowly  xmtil  he  was  looking  down  into  her 
uplifted  face.  "Don't  you  know?"  She  did  not  answer 
and  he  took  one  of  her  wrists  in  his  hand  savagely. 
'  *  Helen !  Don't  you  know  —  now ! ' ' 

Her  breath  was  driven  from  her  lungs  as  he  wrapped  his 
arms  about  her  fiercely,  and  that  breath,  escaping  through 
lips  and  nostrils,  was  hot  on  his  cheek  as  it  lowered  to 
hers  —  as  hot  as  his  lips  on  her  mouth. 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  let  her  head  fall  back. 

"Yes  —  I  know  —  now, "  she  whispered. 

Her  eyes  opened  and  looked  into  his ;  for  a  long  moment 
their  gazes  clung,  and  in  that  look  was  an  understanding 
which  made  words  both  inadequate  and  unnecessary. 
But  words  followed.  In  low  voices,  in  broken  sentences, 
rising  in  tone  and  with  fewer  pauses. 


TIMBER  201 

"And  you  came  —  when  I  needed  you  so!"  she  said  in 
a  thin,  strained  voice.  "I  need  you,  John.  I'm  going  — 
to  depend  on  you  —  so  much  —  so  much."  He  tried  to 
hold  her  even  closer,  but  she  took  her  arms  from  about 
his  neck  and  drew  away,  backing  toward  the  door.  *'I 
need  you  so  badly  —  and  Vve  needed  you  for  so  long  — 
I  guess  —  that  I  can't  have  you  near  me  tonight  John  — 
not  tonight  —  not  this  night." 

He  followed  impulsively  to  the  door,  but  it  closed  in  his 
face. 

''Please!  Please!"  he  heard  her  say  through  it.  He 
made  no  move.  The  sound  of  her  steps  died  away.  He 
stood  alone  in  the  room,  hands  at  his  side  opening  and 
closing  slowly. 

And  in  the  darkness  outside,  Milt  Goddard  who  had 
spied  and  seen  all,  fingered  the  bit  of  the  axe  he  had  taken 
from  the  woodpile. 

Taylor  started  across  the  room  to  the  door  and  Goddard 
crouched  and  crept  forward  —  and  stopped.  John  opened 
the  screen. 

The  axe  dropped  from  the  other's  hands,  he  moved 
away,  putting  the  great  trunk  of  Watch  Pine  between 
himself  and  Taylor.  Then  he  turned  and  stumbled  into 
the  night,  muttering: 

"I  ain't  got  the  nerve  —  I  ain't  got  th'  nerve  to  kiU 
him!" 


CHAPTER   XIX 

In  such  a  manner,  happiness  was  born  of  turmoil. 

Helen  Foraker  had  taken  young  Taylor  into  her  hands 
and  unconsciously  moulded  him  into  the  man  she  would 
have;  he  had  grown,  he  had  changed,  and  though  he 
had  yet  to  prove  his  mettle,  he  bore  rich  promise.  And 
when  he  came  in  her  darkest  hour  and  pledged  his  strength 
in  her  cause  she  found  that  she  needed  the  things  a  man 
so  moulded,  could  give.  Not  his  help,  first,  but  his  love, 
his  trust,  the  sanctuary  of  his  arms. 

But  Taylor  held  that  secret  which  he  dared  not  tell 
the  girl  and  even  that  night  while  the  glory  of  her  yielded 
lips  was  still  fever  in  his  blood  he  felt  the  mounting  of 
apprehension,  much  like  the  misgiving  which  had  been 
born  that  night  in  Florida  when  his  father  made  his 
gift  of  logs,  when  Philip  Howe  had  smirked.  He  went 
to  sleep,  memory  of  her  hands  about  his  neck  mingling 
with  his  father's  face  leering  at  his  efforts  to  protect  the 
forest  from  a  destroying  force. 

"I  felt  so  secure  last  night,"  she  told  him  in  the  early 
day.  "I  felt  that  Jim  Harris  —  no  one,  can  hurt  me  now. 
I  told  you  once  that  there  were  impulses  in  my  heart  that 
never  had  a  chance  to  grow.  This  one,  John,  is  the 
strongest  of  them;  it  has  been  held  back  more  than  any 
other;  repression  gave  it  strength.  Its  breaking  free  was 
so  sudden,  so  overwhelming  —  I  didn't  dare  stay  —  last 
night." 

She  put  her  face  against  his  shoulder. 

There  had  been  no  restraint,  no  shyness  in  her  greeting 

202 


TIMBER  203 

He  had  her  in  his  arms  when  she  spoke  and  she  could  feel 
him  tremble  at  her  words,  but  before  he  could  reply  they 
heard  Black  Joe  grumble  at  Pauguk  as  he  came  aroimd  the 
corner  of  the  house. 

Joe  came  up  the  steps  and  gave  his  curt  little  bob. 

''Say,  Helen,  will  you  tell  her  that  th'  boys  at  th'  mill 
found  a  bee  tree  and  if  she  wants  any  honey  I  cattalate 
she'd  better  send  the  kids  down  with  a  bucket- " 

"Yes,  Joe;  I  will  teU  her. " 

The  woodsman  went  and  she  moved  close  to  Taylor  again. 

"It's  funny,  but  it's  heart  breaking,"  she  said.  "That 
is  what  misunderstanding  will  do.  For  twenty  years  they 
haven't  spoken,  and  they  loved  twenty  years  ago.  A  mis- 
understanding came,  and  probably  they've  both  forgotten 
what  it  was  now.  Stubbornness  has  kept  them  apart  and 
made  them  both  sour.  My  father  said  that  Aunty  May 
used  to  be  the  gayest  girl  on  the  Blueberry  and  that  Black 
Joe  always  sang  at  his  work.  Their  quarrel  came  and 
they  have  not  spoken  since.  Each  is  only  holding  out  for 
the  other  to  break  the  silence  and  growing  more  bitter 
and  older.  Aunty  May  trying  to  make  another  woman's 
children  ease  her  heartache,  Joe  hiding  the  hurt  under  his 
crustiness  and  living  only  for  the  nursery.  . 

"We  can't  ever  risk  a  misunderstanding,  can  we?" 
She  looked  at  him  closely. 
"Why,  John,  what  is  it?"  startled. 
"What  is  what?" 
"You  look  so  —  so  strange! ^^ 

He  was  conscious  that  he  was  flushing;  flushing  because 
the  thing  he  kept  from  Helen  for  her  own  peace  of  mind 
was  a  splendid  nucleus  for  misunderstanding.  But  she  was 
on  her  way  to  Pancake,  even  then,  to  learn  more  of  the 


204  TIMBER 

menaces  which  hung  over  the  forest.  He  could  not  tell 
her  now.  Tonight,  he  told  himself,  tonight  he  would  give 
her  the  whole  miserable  story.  So  he  laughed  her  startled 
question  away  and  watched  her  drive  down  the  road. 

It  was  night  when  she  returned,  mouth  set  and  eyes 
serious. 

"It  looks  dark,"  she  said  hoarsely  in  answer  to  his 
question.  "Darker  than  ever.  All  last  night  and  all  today 
Humphrey  Bryant  has  tried  to  get  in  touch  with  the 
different  supervisors,  but  Jim  Harris  has  them  all  down  at 
the  big  dam  where  they  can't  be  reached.  Harris  has 
heard  that  Humphrey  was  trying  to  block  his  game  and 
fixed  so  we  couldn't  get  to  any  of  the  board  until  it  meets 
—  and  then  Harris  will  be  there,  and  he  holds  them  in 
the  hollow  of  his  hand. 

"If  he  could  be  locked  up,  driven  away  from  that 
meeting  long  enough  for  Humphrey  to  get  at  them!  He 
has  something  up  his  sleeve,  some  little  thing,  such  a 
faint  hope  that  he  won't  even  confide  in  me!  All  he  asks 
is  ten  minutes  alone  with  the  board,  and  he  might  as 
well  ask  for  help  from  Harris!" 

It  was  later  in  the  evening  that  Taylor  walked  aim- 
lessly toward  the  nursery.  He  had  not  seen  Black  Joe 
there  and  was  almost  on  the  humped  figure  which  prodded 
in  a  seed  bed  before  he  noticed  the  old  fellow.  Joe  looked 
up,  gave  a  contemptuous  sniff  and  began  gathering  his  few 
implements,  for  it  was  nearly  dark.  He  went  off  toward 
the  men's  shanty  without  again  looking  at  Taylor. 

John  walked  on  and  stood  looking  absently  down  the 
rows  of  transplants  a  few  moments  and  then  retraced  his 
steps  until  a  movement  in  the  ground  attracted  him.  He 
watched  and  saw  the  stirring  of  a  mole  as  it  made  slow 


TIMBER  205 

progress.  It  went  beneath  the  path  and  entered  a  seed 
bed,  where  stood  pine  trees  no  higher  than  a  man's  finger 
is  long.  Taylor  watched  the  tiny  trees  heaving  before  the 
disturbance,  saw  their  hair-like  roots  break  through  the 
loam.  He  removed  his  pipe  and  looked  toward  the  shanty 
for  Joe. 

''By  Jove!"  he  muttered.    "That'll  hurt 'em." 

He  walked  quickly  out  of  the  nursery. 

Joe  was  on  the  deacon  bench,  filling  his  pipe.  Two  of 
the  men  were  with  him  and  Taylor  knew  that  the  woods- 
man was  settling  himself  for  a  yarn.  He  hesitated  as 
Joe  looked  at  him  with  indifference,  but  he  went  on  down 
the  room  and  stopped  by  the  group. 

"I  was  in  the  nursery,  Joe,"  he  said,  "and  I  saw  some- 
thing you  might  want  to  know. "  The  older  man  crammed 
the  Peerless  into  his  pipe-bowl  and  glared  up  at  the 
intruder.    "  There's  a  mole  in  one  of  the  seed  beds  and  —  " 

No  chance  to  finish!  With  a  snort  of  alarm  Joe  was 
on  his  feet,  hurrying  toward  the  door. 

"Come  on,"  he  snapped,  when  John  did  not  follow. 
*'Show  me  where!" 

Taylor  followed  at  a  trot  as  Joe  hastened  across  the 
open  space  and  in  the  dusk  searched  for  the  telltale  welt 
in  the  soft  earth. 

"There!    See?" 

Joe  had  seen  the  welt  and  the  disturbed  trees  and  he 
conmienced  to  curse,  steadily,  frightfully,  as  he  floundered 
about  in  the  darkness. 

"  Cut  back  to  th'  shanty  an'  git  somethin' ! "  he  snapped. 
"  Somethin'  to  make  a  widder  mole  —  'n  axe  or  anythin'  — 
cut  an'  run  for  it!" 

Taylor  cut  and  ran,  passing  the  two  who  had  been  with 


206  TIMBER 

Joe  inside  and  who  had  followed  leisurely.  A  broad-axe 
was  within  the  door,  the  first  implement  John  saw;  he 
seized  it  and  ran  back. 

Then  followed  a  tense  interval  with  Joe,  axe  upraised, 
stooping  over  the  seed  bed,  watching  in  the  growing 
darkness  for  the  movement  which  would  betray  the 
intruder's  presence.  He  muttered  and  gave  no  heed  to 
the  others.  John  kept  close  by  him,  also  on  the  watch 
for  the  movement  in  the  soil  and  once  Joe  pushed  him 
aside  as  they  both  groped  over  the  same  area. 

"Git  away, "  he  complained,  "or  you'll  git  hurted  along 
with  this  here  blind  devil!" 

John  stood  back,  then,  but  he  did  not  go  away.  The 
other  two  sauntered  away,  uninterested  in  the  affair 
which  had  aroused  Joe  to  such  excitement.  The  old 
fellow  kept  up  his  vigilance,  axe  ready  to  strike,  muttering 
to  himself,  until  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  see. 

Then  he  straightened  and  looked  about,  saw  Taylor 
and  grunted. 

"Damn  him  to  hot  hell!"  he  whispered.  "He'll  ruin 
this  here  bed  if  he  gits  a  chanct!" 

It  was  the  closest  to  a  friendly  comment  he  had  ever 
made  to  the  other  and  John  moved  closer. 

"Sh!"  Joe  warned.  "Keep  still!  He's  here  some'eres 
an'  we  got  to  watch.  You  git  a  lantern;  I'll  stand  guard. " 

John  returned  to  the  shanty  and  came  back  with  the 
lighted  lantern.  Again  they  searched,  but  without  result, 
and  then  Joe  directed  John  to  follow  the  mole's  trail 
to  the  boundary  of  the  nursery  and  tramp  it  down 
carefully,  while  he  kept  up  his  vigilant  watch,  eyes  bright, 
head  moving  constantly  as,  stooped  above  the  bed,  he 
still  searched  for  movement. 


TIMBER  207 

Fifteen  minutes  passed,  a  half  hour;  no  more  indication 
of  the  mole. 

''He's  here  yet,"  Joe  whispered.  "We  gotta  wait. 
Here  gimme,  that  lantern." 

Joe  placed  it  on  the  gromid  so  they  could  see.  Then  he 
lowered  his  axe  and  stood  by,  relaxing  for  the  first 
time.  Taylor  had  been  partly  amused  by  this  performance, 
but  as  he  saw  the  seriousness  with  which  Joe  confronted 
this  comparatively  trivial  damage  to  his  seedlings  his 
interest  was  thoroughly  aroused. 

"I  reckon  mebby  we  could  set  down,"  Joe  whispered 
and  dragged  a  cracker  box  toward  the  lantern.  ''We'll 
watch  an*  we'll  sure  slay  him,  th'  first  move  he  makes!" 

In  his  plan  he  was  including  Taylor,  on  whom  he  had 
always  looked  with  scorn! 

John  settled  himself  with  a  fresh  pipe,  and  Joe  sat 
beside  him,  silent,  eyes  on  the  damaged  bed,  axe  in  his 
hands.  Twice  he  started  up  sharply;  once  he  rose  and 
stood  crouched  over  the  place,  axe  upraised,  ready  to 
strike,  holding  his  breath;  then  sank  to  the  box  with  a 
muttered  curse. 

He  looked  at  Taylor  closely,  for  a  long  moment; 
then  down  at  the  axe,  and  something  like  chagrin  flickered 
in  his  eyes. 

"Anybody  who  didn't  have  good  sense  'uld  think  a 
feller  was  crazy  to  carry  on  like  this, "  he  said,  straighten- 
ing a  leg,  and  again  looking  at  the  mighty  weapon  with 
which  he  had  planned  to  kill  the  small  rodent,  *'but  these 
here  seed  was  special  selected  an'  we  can't  let  no  damned 
mole  spoil  our  work." 

John  sensed  that  Joe  feared  he  might  be  making  himself 
absurd  and  wanted  to  avoid  that  impression  at  any  cost. 


208  TIMBER 

"That's  right,''  he  said  lowly,  "We'll  get  him." 

Joe  spit  and  nodded. 

" Damn  bet!  We'll  set  here  all  night,  but  we'll  git  him. " 

Spit.    Silence.    Voices  from  the  shanty. 

"Course  with  ordinary  seedlin's  a  man  wouldn't  set 
out  all  night,"  he  went  on  after  a  bit,  "but  these  here's 
different  —  special  select;  somethin'  me  an'  Foraker 
started  long  time  ago  an'  me  an'  Helen's  been  keepin'  up." 

John  watched  him;  Joe  was  talking  without  being  urged, 
without  much  reserve,  after  those  weeks  of  aloof  scorn. 

"Y'see,"  gesturing  with  his  paper  of  tobacco,  "I  took 
these  here  seeds  from  trees  that  was  naterally  whoopin' 
er  up,  growin'  like  weeds.  Me  an'  Foraker  'nd  Helen,  now, 
thinks  mebby  we  c'n  work  trees  like  the  gov'm't  works 
wheat  an'  corn;  git  th'  seed  from  the  best  stock;  improve 
your  — " 

He  stooped  and  leaned  forward,  rising  slowly  to  a 
crouch,  spitting  on  a  palm  as  he  grasped  his  axe;  then 
sank  back  again  with  a  quiet  oath  of  disappointment. 

"That  sounds  reasonable,"  said  John  and  nodded. 

Joe  looked  at  him  sharply,  as  though  suspecting  that 
Taylor  was  skeptical,  but  he  saw  the  genuine  regard  for 
his  idea  in  the  younger  man's  face  and  looked  away  and 
sighed  with  satisfaction. 

"I  thought  mebby  you  had  a  little  sense, "  he  said. 

Taylor  smiled  and  buttoned  his  coat. 

"You  can't  do  much  in  a  short  time,  though,  can 
you?"    he  asked. 

"Twenty  years,  mebby;  mebby  more.  Foraker  used 
to  say  a  lifethne."  Shrug.  Spit.  "Me  'nd  Helen  'nd 
him  are  th'  only  ones  —  besides  the  professors  —  who've 
got  sense  enough  to  git  intrusted. " 


TIMBER  209 

"Maybe  you'll  let  me  in  on  that,  Joe.  I'm  interested. 
There  are  so  darned  many  big  things  going  on  around 
here  that  a  greenhorn  can't  show  interest  in  them  all 
at  once  —  where'd  you  find  the  seed  bearers  you  wanted?  " 

Joe  told  him  at  length,  told  of  their  experiences,  the 
data  they  had  assembled,  warming  to  his  subject,  all  but 
forgetting  the  mole.  He  no  longer  looked  away  from 
Taylor,  but  peered  closely  into  his  face  and  answered 
questions  and  talked  —  and  talked  —  and  talked. 

For  years  he  had  worked  in  that  nursery,  tending  his 
seedUngs  as  he  would  so  many  children,  talking  to  few 
but  Helen  and  her  father  about  his  work,  finding  none 
but  them  and  professional  foresters  who  were  interested 
in  what  he  was  doing.  He  found  a  pride  in  these  accom- 
plishments and  was  hungry  for  appreciation;  he  could 
talk  to  the  men  of  the  crew  about  logging,  could  tell  his 
Bunion  tales  and  find  an  interested  audience.  But  for 
the  matters  closest  to  his  heart  there  was  no  outlet  — 
until  now,  when  this  city  boy  sat  beside  him  on  a  cracker 
box,  watching  for  a  mole,  listening,  unafraid  to  betray 
ignorance  by  questions  — 

Lights  went  out  in  the  shanty;  sounds  of  men  ceased. 
The  moon  came  up  and  still  the  two  sat,  collars  up,  for 
the  night  was  cool,  whispering,  watching  the  seed  bed 
for  the  stirring  that  would  end  their  vigil  — 

And  then  Joe  talked  of  the  forest,  what  it  had  been, 
what  it  was  and  might  be;  of  Foraker  himself  and  of 
Helen  — 

Men  can  say  worlds  about  women  with  the  use  of  a  few 
simple   words. 

"She's  a  good  girl,"  Joe  said  of  Helen  Foraker,  without 
much  emphasis,  with  only  a  slight  nod  of  his  head,  but  in 


210  TIMBER 

that  sentence  was  an  indication  of  devotion  and  loyalty 
that  could  not  be  mistaken.    ''She's  — 

''Look  there!" 

His  whisper  was  the  barest  breath.  They  rose  together, 
creeping  toward  the  lantern.  There  was  no  wind,  their 
movements  were  of  the  lightest,  but  in  the  center  of  the 
bed  was  a  stirring,  a  heaving  among  the  little  trees  — 

The  axe  rose  slowly;  it  poised,  and  then  it  swept  down 
and  buried  itself  in  the  ground  — 

"Got  him!"  cried  Joe.  "Got  him!"  as  he  turned  back 
the  earth  with  the  blade. 

He  grinned  then  and  spit  in  delight  and  repeated  again 
and  again  that  he  had  "got  him." 

Carefully  he  made  temporary  repairs  to  the  damage 
in  the  bed  and  then  picked  up  the  lantern. 

"Now  we'll  hit  th'  bunks,  Johnny,"  he  chuckled.  "A 
good  night's  work,  lad!" 

They  walked  slowly  toward  the  men's  shanty,  shoulder 
to  shoulder,  like  old  friends.  Before  the  door  they  stopped 
and  Taylor  said: 

"There's  one  thing  I  want  to  put  up  to  you,  Joe. 
You're  the  only  man  I  can  go  to  with  it  and  it's  about  — 
Helen." 

"Helen?" 

"Yes." 

"You'd  do  a  lot  for  her,  wouldn't  you,  Black  Joe?" 

"Who?  Me?  Dyin'  would  be  easy  —  for  her!" 

He  went  on  haltingly  to  extoll  the  girl's  virtues  and 
Taylor  smoked  thoughtfully,  some  of  the  perplexity  that 
had  been  in  his  gathered  brows  even  during  that  successful 
venture  into  a  new  friendship  departing,  a  strange  sort  of 
twinkle  in  his  eyes,  and  when  Joe  stopped  Taylor  looked 


TIMBER  211 

about  to  see  that  they  were  unobserved  and  lowered  his 
voice  and  talked;  and  Joe  nodded  and  grunted  and  once 
he  cursed  heavily,  forbiddingly. 

Joe  began  to  question  —  to  plan  in  whispers. 

"Sure,  I  know!  I  alius  watch  'em  as  I  don't  like.  I 
know  his  habits  —  he's  chased  after  me  —  chased  —  an' 
I  wouldn't  talk  to  him  —  not  before  — " 

He  laughed  silently. 


CHAPTER   XX 

Saturday  was  a  lazy  June  day;  there  was  little  breeze, 
little  movement  of  any  sort  and  blue-bottle  flies  droned 
through  the  open  door  of  the  office  of  the  Blueberry  Banner. 
Humphrey  Bryant  sat  in  his  chair,  arms  hanging  limply 
from  his  shoulders,  one  foot  resting  on  its  side,  the  other 
leg  sprawled  before  him. 

It  was  nearly  noon.  All  day  yesterday,  all  the  night 
before  he  had  worked  to  batter  down  the  defense  that 
Jim  Harris  had  built  about  the  individuals  of  his  board 
of  supervisors  —  his  by  right  of  possession.  It  had 
availed  nothing.  Bryant  had  watched  them  come  into 
town,  watched  them  gather  at  the  court  house  and  he 
could  see  them  now,  in  the  upper  corner  of  the  red  building, 
moving  about  as  they  got  at  the  work  before  them  — 

That  he  could  see,  and  something  else,  the  feet  of  Jim 
Harris,  propped  against  the  window  siU,  as  he  tilted  his 
chair  backward  and  let  the  machinery  of  legislation 
grind  its  way  —  the  way  he  had  directed.  Those  feet 
rested  idly  enough,  lazily  enough,  but  Bryant  knew  that 
they  were  ready  to  stamp  down  upon  any  challenge  that 
might  be  flaunted,  that  Harris  would  not  leave  that 
meeting  until  the  motion  to  adjourn  had  carried,  that 
it  was  such  vigilance  that  had  made  him  valuable  to 
Pontiac  Power,  and  a  menace  to  honest  men. 

And  the  old  editor  was  slumped  listlessly  in  his  chair, 
rifiiing  the  pages  of  that  worn  note  book  because  he  was 

212 


TIMBER  213 

an  old  man,  and  a  shrewd  old  man;  being  old,  he  had  lost 
his  best  vigor;  being  shrewd  he  did  not  deceive  himself. 
His  heart  did  not  falter  and  he  tried  to  see  clearly,  but 
he  read  in  those  contented  feet  a  barrier  against  which  any 
javelin  he  might  hurl  in  the  cause  of  right  would  crumple 
and  fall. 

The  morning  freight  came  down  and  John  Taylor  and 
Black  Joe,  who  had  swung  aboard  at  Seven  Mile,  dropped 
off  and  walked  up  First  Street,  Taylor  looked  into  the 
Banner  office. 

''Have  dinner  with  us?"  he  asked. 

''No  thanks,  Taylor.  Chained  to  the  desk  today. " 

There  was  no  laugh  in  the  blue  eyes  and  they  did  not 
rest  long  on  Taylor's  face.  They  were  fixed  on  those  feet 
in  that  court  house  window. 

John  and  Black  Joe  went  on. 

"  Chained  to  his  desk, "  Black  Joe  muttered  and  laughed, 
"An'  his  eyes  glued  on  that  damn  tin  court  house!" 

They  entered  the  poolroom.  It  was  a  dingy,  smelly 
place,  with  two  battered  tables  on  a  littered  floor  that 
still  bore  the  faint  marks  of  river  boots.  The  cigar  case 
was  fly  specked  and  broken  and  patched.  There  was  a 
dusty  one-eyed  deer  on  the  wall  beside  a  lithograph  of  a 
fat-legged  girl  in  red  stockings,  and  a  dirty-faced  clock. 
A  stuffed  owl  stared  fixedly  from  the  opposite  wall  and 
there  was  a  faded  photograph  of  the  Blueberry,  jammed 
with  pine  logs  over  which  rivermen  posed  self-consciously. 

Joe  eyed  the  stock  of  cigars. 

"What  seegar  is  it  Jim  Harris  smokes?"  he  asked. 
"He  give  me  one  onct — " 

"This  one,  Joe,"  the  greasy-faced  proprietor  said. 
"Fifteen  centers.    Grood  stuff,  that;    none  better.    Jim 


214  TIMBER 

always  buys  here, "  proudly.  ''Comes  in  after  every  meal, 
regular  as  a  clock." 

"That  so?  Always  comes  here,  eh?" 

''Yup.  Says  I  know  how  to  keep  tobacco,  an'  Jim  sure 
ought  to  know." 

''He  sure  ought,"  said  Joe,  putting  the  cigar  in  his 
pocket  and  bringing  out  his  pipe  and  Peerless. 

The  two  retired  to  a  bench  in  the  window  and  talked, 
heads  close  together. 

Noon.  Movement  on  the  court  house  steps  as  the 
board  adjourned  for  dinner  and  trooped  together  to  the 
Commercial  House  to  eat  with  Jim  and  on  Jim. 

Harris  was  in  fine  feather.  This  morning  the  resolutions 
had  been  drawn  as  he  had  planned  and  this  afternoon  the 
board  would  pass  them,  as  he  had  planned.  Within 
sixty  days  the  coimty  would  bond  itself  for  a  new  court 
house  which  was  sop  to  the  community  pride,  and  the 
roads,  which  would  speed  the  settling  of  that  waste  land 
to  the  northward  with  more  wretched  families. 

After  the  meal  Harris  bought  cigars  for  the  board 
members  at  the  hotel  desk;  he  did  not  take  one  for  himself 
and  when  the  others  started  back  toward  the  court  house 
he  lumbered  across  the  street  to  the  poolroom,  waving  his 
hand  and  saying  that  he  would  be  along  directly. 

He  meant  that.  But  he  was  forced  to  wait  for  attention 
because  the  proprietor  sat  on  the  wide  window  ledge, 
beside  him  was  Lucius  Kildare  and  on  the  bench  facing 
them  sat  Black  Joe,  pipe  in  his  hands,  leaning  forward, 
talking  earnestly.  John  Taylor  occupied  the  rest  of  the 
bench  and  another  lounger  leaned  over  the  back,  grinning 
broadly. 

Black  Joe's  gaze  was  directed  at  the  face  of  the  poolroom 


TIMBER  216 

owner  and  he  held  the  man's  attention  even  after  he  knew 
that  the  great  Jim  Harris  waited. 

Then  the  proprietor  broke  away  and  Joe  leaned  back 
and  puffed  while  Harris  took  a  handful  of  cigars  from  the 
box.    Silence. 

*'An'  you  never  heerd  tell  'bout  Paul's  mule  team?" 
Joe  asked  Taylor. 

"Never!" 

Joe  shook  his  head  and  cHcked  his  tongue.  "My  Lord, 
you're  igerent, "  he  said  and  hitched  about  to  face  Taylor, 
and  see  Harris.  He  waited  a  moment  before  he  commenced 
to  talk,  prefacing  his  tale  by  a  moment  of  suspense,  as  is 
the  way  with  the  best  spinners  of  yams.  Harris,  biting 
off  the  end  of  his  cigar,  watched.  There  had  been  no 
unfriendly  stare  from  Black  Joe  this  time;  there  seemed 
to  be  no  barrier  between  the  woodsman  and  any  who 
might  be  within  earshot.  For  months  Jim  Harris  had 
awaited  such  a  moment. 

He  looked  down  the  street.  The  last  of  the  supervisors 
was  disappearing  within  the  court  house.  Had  Joe  waited 
another  instant  Jim  might  have  gone  on  to  join  them, 
but  Joe  did  not  wait.  He  commenced  to  talk,  slowly, 
deliberately.  He  told  his  story  as  the  Bunion  stories  have 
been  told  for  two  generations  in  the  Lake  States.  Those 
about  him  were  schooled  listeners;  they  knew  when  to 
inject  the  questions  that  led  him  into  the  byways  of 
Bunion  classics,  knew  when  to  laugh,  when  to  repress 
their  mirth  imtil  the  point  of  the  narrative  should  be 
completed. 

And  Jim  Harris  waited  and  listened,  wanting  to  go, 
putting  aside  his  caution  from  moment  to  moment  because 
Black  Joe  was  recounting  the  adventures  of  this  mythical 


216  TIMBER 

logger  and  to  hear  any  of  Joe's  kind  and  generation  tell 
these  tales  is  to  be  blessed. 

This  is  the  story  that  Black  Joe  told: 

"Now,  this  here  mule  team  of  Paul's  was  a  right  good 
pair.  They  done  a  lot  of  work  an'  Paul  he  treated  'em 
right,  alius  cattelatin'  it  was  best  policy  to  be  good  to 
stock.  When  they  was  workin'  hard  it  cost  a  lot  to  keep 
'em  up  fer  sure,  but  when  they  was  just  standin'  in  th' 
barn  he  only  fed  'em  four  bushels  of  com  to  th'  feed. 

"Paul  fed  'em  hisself,  when  he  wasn't  away,  an'  when 
he  was  gone  Swede  Charley  looked  atter  'em  —  along 
with  th'  ox-team,  little  Babe  an'  her  mate.  You  heerd 
tell  'bout  that  team,  ain't  you? 

"My  God,  Taylor,  don't  you  know  nothin'?  This  here 
was  a  good  team,  too.  Never  seen  'em  myself,  but  I 
knowed  a  chore  boy  who  worked  for  Paul  th'  winter  of 
th'  blue  snow,  an'  he  was  a~tellin'  as  how  little  Babe 
was  four  axe-handles  wide  atween  th'  eyes — " 

He  spit  and  wiped  his  chin. 

"One  day  when  Paul  was  loggin'  off  section  thirty-seven, 
he  was  feedin'  th'  mules  an'  he  sees  what  looks  like  a 
good-sized  kernel  of  corn.  Might'  good-sized  kernel,  all 
right.  Paul,  he  was  alius  lookin'  atter  good  things,  so  he 
stuck  her  in  his  vest  pocket  an'  didn't  give  it  to  th'  mules. 

"Atter  dinner  he  was  rummagin'  round  fer  a  tooth- 
pick an'  locates  this  here  kernel  o'  com.  He  was  out 
behint  th'  barn  jus'  then  an'  so  he  kicks  a  hole  in  th' 
ground  an'  plants  her  — 

"That  was  th'  big  barn.  See,  Paul  he  kep'  a  lotta  teams 
on  th'  haul  which  meant  pret'  big  barn.  Big  job,  cleanin' 
this  here  barn  an'  Paul  was  great  for  this  —  now,  efficiency. 


TIMBER  217 

So  he  had  th'  barn  set  on  wheels  an'  moved  it  along  every 
day,  'stead  of  acleanin'  her  out. 

"That  night  a  settler  drives  in  to  talk  to  Paul  'bout 
some  cord  wood.  He  was  thar  awhile  an'  'long  'bout 
dusk  he  goes  out  fer  to  start  home  — 

"In  a  minute  he  was  back  an'  says  to  Paul  that  his 
team's  got  away. 

"  'So'?  says  Paul,  'Where'd  you  leave  'em?' 

"  'Out  tied  to  that  air  telephone  pole  behint  your 
bam,"  gesturing. 

"  'They  ain't  no  telephone  pole  thar,'  says  Paul. 

"  'Sure  they  is,'  says  the  settler. 

"So  Paul  goes  out  to  investigate.  He  an'  th'  settler 
walks  aroun'  behint  th'  bam  an'  th'  settler  says  to  look 
thar;  thar  she  is.  Paul  looks  an'  blinks  because  b'  God, 
his  corn  had  sprouted  an'  this  here  telephone  pole  was 
his  cornstalk! 

"Well,  it  was  a  pret'  high  cornstalk  by  then  an'  Paul 
leans  back  to  look  up  an'  see  how  high  it  was  an',  b'  gosh, 
what's  he  see  but  that  air  team  an'  wagon  belongin'  to  th' 
settler  away  up  thar,  most  outta  sight.  Th'  stalk  had 
growed  up  an'  took  th'  whole  shebang  along! 

"Now  Paul  he  knowed  he's  got  fer  to  get  this  here 
team  down,  so  he  sends  fer  Swede  Charley  an'  says, 
'Charley,  you  climb  up  an'  ontie  that  air  team.' 

"So  Charley  he  spits  on  his  hands  an'  starts  up.  Dam 
good  climber,  Charley;  he  climbs  pret'  darn  fast,  an' 
he  gits  away  up  thar  an'  then  they  see  him  makin'  funny 
motions,  wavin'  his  arms  an'  such,  an'  th'  boys  begin  to 
wonder  what's  up. 

"Well,  Paul  he  figgers  it  out.  Charley  can't  make  it 
an*  's    tryin'  to    sHde  down,  but  this  gol-dam  stock's 


218  TIMBER 

growin'  up  faster  'n  he  can  slide  down  an'  he  keeps  right 
on  goin'  outta  sight.'' 

He  paused  and  pulled  twice  at  his  pipe,  ignoring  the 
mirth  about  him. 

''Now,  this  's  pret'  serious,  thinks  Paul,  Swede  Charley 
up  thar  an'  goin'  higher;  what's  goin'  to  happen  to  him? 
He'll  starve,  won't  he? 

"  So  Paul  runs  to  th'  cook  shanty  an'  gits  a  lotta  biscuits 
an'  into  th'  van  where  he  keeps  his  shot  guij. 

"Pref  good  gun,  this  here  one  of  Paul's.  Fair-sized 
gun,  too.  Paul  he  used  to  load  each  bar'l  with  a  dish  pan 
full  of  powder  an'  brick  bats  an'  he'd  shoot  her  first  east 
an'  if  he  didn't  git  game  thar,  he'd  shoot  her  west;  alius 
got  game  one  place  or  t'other. 

"So  Paul  loads  her  with  biscuits  an'  shoots  both  bar'ls 
up  toward  where  Charley's  went,  most  outta  sight  by 
then.  And  they  knowed  Charley  'd  have  somethin'  to 
eat  ontil  they  could  git  him  down. 

"Th'  settler  he  walks  home  an'  Paul  he  goes  to  bed, 
thinkin'  'bout  that  air  team  an'  Charley.  Nothin'  he  can 
do  till  mornin'  but  when  mornin'  comes,  th'  top  of  that 
stalk,  th'  team  an'  Charley  is  all  clean  outta  sight  — 

"Paul  he  gits  right  worried.  Atter  a  few  days  they 
commences  to  find  dead  crows  in  th'  swamp.  Crows  kep' 
fallin'  down  plumb  dead  an'  nothin'  but  skin  an'  bones. 
Lot  o'  crows.  Paul  he  figgers  that  air  out,  too.  This 
here  team^s  died  up  thar  an'  th'  crows  has  started  up 
atter  'em  for  a  nice  meal,  but  they  's  starved  to  death  on 
th'  way!" 

Taylor  glanced  at  the  battered  clock.   It  was  after  one. 

"Now  this  here  cornstalk  gives  no  sign  of  slowin'  up. 
She  grows  over  ag'in'  the  barn  an'  they  have  fer  to  put 


TIMBER  219 

th'  bam  on  another  set  o'  wheels  so*s  it'll  run  sideways. 
Then  she  grows  ag'in'  th*  men's  shanty  an'  they  has  to 
put  that  on  wheels  too,  an'  th'  cornstalk  keeps  crowdin' 
'em  apart  ontil  they  has  to  string  a  telephone  line  atween 
th'  bam  an'  shanty  to  communicate  ready-like. 

"Paul  he's  pret'  worried.  Never  seen  nothin'  like  this 
here  afore.  One  day  a  man  drives  into  camp  with  a  feather 
in  his  hat  an'  gold  buttons  on  his  coat  an'  solid  gold  medals 
on  his  chist  an'  gold  things  on  his  shoulders.  He's  got  a 
sword  an'  stripes  on  his  pants  an'  shiny  boots  an'  he  carried 
a  big  paper  all  stuck  over  with  red  sealin'  wax  an'  blue 
ribbins.   He  walks  up  to  Paul. 

"  'You  Mister  Bunion?'  he  asks,  an'  Paul  he  'lows 
how  he  is.  'Well  I  gotta  warrant  for  your  arrest  from 
Congress,'   he  says. 

"  'Warrant?'  says  Paul,  surprised-like.  'From 
Congress?  What  for?  An'  who  are  you?' 

"  'I'm  th' Admiral  of  th' Navy,'  says  th' gent,  'An' 
this  here  cornstalk  's  got  its  roots  into  Lake  Huron  on 
one  side  an'  Lake  Michigan  on  th'  other  an'  she  is  suckin' 
the  water  up  so  fast  that  all  th'  boats  is  aground!' 

"Now  Paul,  he  ain't  no  mean  talker,  so  he  argufies  with 
this  here  Admiral  an'  promises  him  he'll  get  this  here  corn- 
stalk out  th'  way.  Th'  Admiral  he  don't  want  to  leave  it 
that  way,  but  Paul  he's  done  a  lotta  loggin'  fer  Congress, 
y'  know,  an'  he  stands  pret'  well.  Yup.  He  logged  off 
North  Dakoty.  See,  when  th'  Governor  who  was  a 
reformed  Swede  found  out  th'  King  o'  Sweden  was  drivin' 
all  th'  good  farmers  out  an'  that  they  was  comin'  over 
here,  he  wants  'em  in  Dakoty.  But  they  wa'n't  no  place 
for  'em,  then,  so  th'  governor  gits  Congress  to  say  it'll 
log  off  th'  state  an'  Congress  gives  th'  contrack  to  Paul 


220  TIMBER 

an'  makes  good,  which  gives  him  a  pret'  fair  stand-in  — 

''Well  the  Admiral  he  goes  off  an'  Paul,  he  sets  down 
to  think.  He's  gotta  cut  that  damn  cornstalk  down 
somehow,  but  it's  a  big  job.  He  thinks  an  thinks  an'  then 
he  sends  for  th'  Tie-Cuttin'  Finn  an'  says  — 

"Tie-Cuttin  Finn?   Never  heerd  tell  on  him?" 

He  clicked  his  tongue  in  disgust  and  sighed. 

"Well  this  here  Finn,  he  was  th'  best  broad-axe  man 
Paul  ever  had,  but  he  ain't  quite  so  good  as  Paul  wants  at 
that,  him  havin'  a  big  tie  contrack.  So  Paul  he  gits  an 
idea.  He  rigs  a  thirty-pound  broad-axe  on  each  of  th' 
Finn's  feet  like  skates. "  He  drew  up  a  foot  to  illustrate. 
"Straps  'em  on  good  an'  solid.  Then  th'  Finn  goes  into 
th'  cedar  swamp.  He  goes  up  a  tree,  usin'  these  here 
axes  for  climbers,  scores  goin'  up,  gits  to  th'  top,  slides 
down,  hewes  two  faces  on  th'  way  an'  knocks  off  a  tie 
every  eight  feet — " 

Taylor  did  not  laugh  with  the  others.  He  looked  again 
at  the  clock.   It  was  quarter  after  one. 

"Well  Paul,  he  calls  in  th'  Tie-Cuttin'  Finn  an'  tells 
him  to  pick  out  fifty  of  th'  likeliest-lookin'  broad-axe 
men  in  camp,  which  th'  Finn  does.  He  takes  'em  into  th' 
swamp  an'  fer  a  month  he  teaches  'em  ontil  he's  got 
fifty  of  th'  best  axe-men  that  ever  spit  on  a  hand. 

"Then  one  mornin'  bright  an'  early  they  all  come 
out,  axes  all  sharp,  stripped  to  their  shirts  an'  lines  up 
roun'  th'  cornstalk. 

"Paul  he  gits  the  dinner  horn  from  th'  cook  shanty  — 
Ever  hear  'bout  that  dinner  horn?  Nope?  Huh!  Well 
she's  a  good  one.  Has  to  have  a  good  one  y'  know,  'cause 
he  runs  a  big  camp  an'  th'  men  git  scattered  a  long  ways 
by  dinner  time,  but  nobody  but  Paul  can  blow  this  here 


TIMBER  221 

horn.  The  sound  carries  all  right  when  Paul  blows  her, 
but  it's  kinda  expensive  'cause  every  time  he  blows  he 
knocks   down    'bout    'leven    acres    of   standin'    timber. 

*'Well,  Paul,  he  gits  these  here  men  all  strung  'round 
th'  cornstalk  an'  he  blows  th'  horn  for  'em  to  start.  They 
slam  into  th'  stalk  good  an'  heavy,  fifty  of  'em,  each 
sinkin'  his  axe  to  th'  eye  —  but — "  He  sighed  and 
paused.  "You  see,  their  choppin'  don't  do  a  dime's 
worth  of  good,  'cause  this  here  danm  stalk  grows  so  fast 
that  they  can't  hit  twice  in  th'  same  place  to  git  a  chip 
off." 

Joe  scowled  and  rubbed  his  chin. 

"Bad,"  he  muttered.  "Pref  bad,  with  Congress 
waitin'  fer  to  arrest  Paul  an'  ruin  his  reppetation. 

"So  Paul,  he  does  some  more  thinkin'.  Now  you 
recalled  'bout  Paul's  big  saw  mill.  Pret'  good-sized  mill. 
Right /air  mill.  She'd  cut  a  million  feet  an  hour.  To  keep 
this  mill  in  logs  he  had  to  build  a  pret'  good  railroad. 
Light  steel  wouldn't  stand  his  trains  'cause  they  had  to 
load  fairly  heavy,  so  Paul  had  some  special  steel  made, 
mite  heavier  'n  an3rthin'  they'd  ever  used  loggin'.  Each 
rail  was  a  quarter-mile  long  an'  a  foot  square  on  th'  end. 

"Now  this  road,  good  as  she  was,  couldn't  quite  keep 
th'  mill  in  logs.  The'  was  a  Scotchman  engineer  on  th' 
loggin'  train  an'  he  used  to  roll  'em  in  pret'  fast,  but 
Paul  he  ain't  satisfied,  an'  he  laces  into  th'  Scotchman  one 
day  an'  tells  it  to  him  good  an'  hard  an'  says  to  put  on  a 
httle  st^am,  wood's  cheap,  an'  travel  some.  That  made 
the  engineer  mad  —  'cause  he  thought  he'd  been  doin' 
pret'  good.  So  when  he  goes  out  with  his  empties  to  th' 
bankin'  ground  he  opens  her  wide  an'  she  goes  so  damn 
fast  that  th'  draft  picks  up  th'  steel  an'  ties  an'  rolls  'em 


222  TIMBER 

up  behint  an'  over  th'  way  car  ontil  railroad,  train  an' 
everythin'  's  junk. 

''Now  that  air  railroad  she  was  Paul's  first  big  failure; 
gettin'  rid  of  this  here  cornstalk  's  th'  other.  So  he 
natterly  thinks  'bout  both,  an'  that  gives  him  'n  idee. 
He  goes  over  to  this  here  junk  pile  an'  commences  pullin' 
her  apart. 

''Quite  a  job,  with  them  quarter -mile  rails,  but  by-an'- 
by  he  gits  a  few  pulled  loose  an'  straightened  out  an' 
puts  'em  over  his  shoulder  an'  walks  back  to  camp. 

"That  evenin'  atter  supper  he  takes  a  look  at  th'  corn- 
stalk, which  is  a  right  good-sized  stalk  by  then.  He  takes 
these  here  rails  an'  knots  'em  together,  strings  'em  aroun' 
th'  stalk,  ties  'em  up  tight  in  a  knot  an'  stands  back  an' 
says:  'There,  dm-n  ye,  pinch  yerself  off!'  Which  the  stalk 
perceeds  to  do." 

Harris  relighted  his  cigar  with  a  hand  that  trembled. 

"Well  she  pinches  all  right.  They  can  hear  her  crackin' 
over  in  Wisconsin. 

"Then  Paul  he  thinks  to  hisself,  what  '11  happen  when 
she  comes  down? 

"So  he  sends  fer  his  surveyor  an'  puts  him  out  'n  th' 
brush  with  his  transit  to  watch  th'  top  of  this  here  corn- 
stalk. They  strings  a  telephone  line  out  to  th'  place  an' 
th'  surveyor  camps  there.  Th'  stalk  keeps  growin'  an' 
snappin'  an'  atter  a  while  th'  surveyor  he  telephones  an' 
says  she's  commencin'  to  sag. 

"Paul  he  sends  his  men  out  into  th'  clearin'  to  warn 
th'  settlers  an'  gets  'em  all  outen  th'  way.  Everybody's 
pret'  much  excited. 

"  'She's  commencin'  to  sag  somethin'  bad,'  telephones 
th'  surveyor.    Everybody  gits  away  back  —  an'  looks  — 


TIMBER  223 

They  can  see  her  quiver  an'  quake  an'  by-'n-by  they  can 
hear  her  top  whistlin'. " 

He  spat. 

*^Yes,  sir,  they  heerd  that  top  whistlin'  four  days  afore 
she  hit  th'  ground!" 

He  stopped  with  a  nod  and  tightening  of  his  lips.  Harris 
rocked  with  laughter.  Taylor,  though,  was  very  serious 
and  looked  again  at  the  clock.    A  half  hour  had  passed. 

"Four  days, "  repeated  Joe,  seriously.  "An'  no  wonder! 
Why,  Paul,  he  figgered  out  that  about  a  mile  'n  half  of 
that  air  top  had  f razzeled  out  on  th'  way  down ! 

"They  went  out  to  look  th'  thing  over  atter  she  was  safe 
down  an'  up  pret'  well  toward  what  was  left  of  th' 
top  end  they  found  'n  ear  of  com.  Pret'  sizeable  ear,  this 
here  was,  and  it  was  druv  straight  into  th'  ground  by  th' 
stalk. 

"Paul  he  scratched  his  head  an'  thinks  he  better  git 
that  air  ear  out.  So  he  goes  gits  th'  mule  team  'nd  builds 
a  stump  puller.  He  has  to  build  a  pret'  big  stump  puller 
all  right.  He  rigs  her  up  good  an'  strong  an'  hooks  on  th' 
mules  an'  pulls  on  that  cob  an'  when  he  gits  her  up  he  has 
'n  eighty  foot  well,  all  cobbled  up  with  kernels." 

Harris  leaned  against  the  door  and  his  eyes  swam  with 
tears  as  he  laughed. 

Joe  looked  at  Taylor  and  the  young  man  nodded  — 
after  he  had  glanced  into  the  street  —  toward  the  court 
house.  At  that  Black  Joe  got  up  and  drew  a  paper  of 
tobacco  from  his  pocket. 

"Joe,  that's  a  good  yarn,"  said  Harris,  drawing  a 
handkerchief  to  wipe  his  eyes. 

"Yup,  Paul  was  quite  a  lad.  He  never  let  anythin' 
interfere  with  his  work." 


224  TIMBER 

**More  than  I've  done/'  sliding  his  watch  to  a  big  palm. 
"Vm  overdue  —  a  half  hour!" 

Still  chuckling,  making  brief  farewells,  he  departed. 
Joe  and  Taylor  watched  him  swing  along  the  board  side- 
walk. They  could  see  the  supervisors  through  the  open 
window  of  their  room  —  and  one  figure  was  in  the  street, 
the  figure  that  John  had  seen  as  Joe  brought  his  story  to 
a  finish:  Humphrey  Bryant,  walking  slowly  from  the 
court  house  toward  the  Banner  ofiice,  slowly  but  not 
like  an  old  man  —  with  a  spring  in  his  stride,  and  his  thin 
plume  of  white  hair  waved  triumphantly  above  his  scalp. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

Humphrey  Bryant  had  not  eaten,  had  not  left  his 
desk.  He  watched  the  supervisors  trail  toward  the 
Commercial  House  with  Jim  Harris  in  the  lead,  watched 
the  town  merchants  one  by  one  lock  their  doors  and  go 
home  for  dinner  —  and  then  sat  there,  staring  blankly  at 
the  picture  of  Pingree  on  the  blue  calcimined  wall. 

He  was  not  conscious  that  so  much  time  passed.  Time 
seemed  to  speed  that  day,  drawing  events  after  it  in  a 
dizz>dng  swirl,  portentous  events,  carrying  great  conse- 
quence for  him  and  Helen  Foraker  beneath  their  surface, 
and  he  roused  with  a  start  as  Sim  Bums  strolled  along 
the  walk  on  his  way  back  from  dinner.  Wes  Hubbard 
was  behind  him  and  Art  Billings  and  the  others.  Finally 
Henry  Wales,  fretting  with  his  pale  cigar,  hastened  along 
as  the  clock  on  Bryant's  office  wall  struck  one. 

The  old  man  rose  and  went  to  the  door.  Through  the 
open  court  house  window  he  saw  the  supervisors  moving 
about  their  room  —  he  watched  and  waited.  Jim  Harris 
did  not  emerge  from  the  poolroom. 

Bareheaded  he  crossed  the  street,  breath  a  trifle  short, 
heart  thumping. 

The  aimless  chatter  of  the  group  frazzled  to  a  tell-tale 
silence  as  the  editor  appeared  in  the  doorway.  He  stood 
a  moment,  counting  them.  Each  township  was  repre- 
sented. He  stepped  inside,  drawing  the  door  shut  behind 
him  and  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  knob.    His  white, 

225 


226  TIMBER 

stiff-bosomed  shirt  was  open  at  the  throat,  his  vest 
unbuttoned. 

^'Gentlemen,"  he  said,  and  bowed. 

They  were  all  old  men,  except  Sim;  some  white  headed, 
some  grizzled;  some  withered,  a  few  portly;  of  the  old 
order  in  body  and  thought. 

Wes  Hubbard  took  his  feet  from  the  chairman's  desk. 

"Mornin'  Hump',"  he  said  and  picked  up  the  gavel. 
"Lookin'  for  a  piece  for  th'  Banner?" 

There  was  something  malicious  in  the  casual  question. 

"Yes,  for  the  Banner  —  perhaps." 

"Ought  to  make  a  good  write-up.  We're  goin'  to 
resolute  for  a  new  court  house  an'  for  lots  of  roads  this 
afternoon. " 

"That's  commendable.  We've  managed  to  stagger 
along  with  the  old  tin  shack  and  our  sand  trails  for  quite 
a  while. 

"You  think,  do  you  gentlemen,  that  the  electorate  will 
vote  the  bonds?" 

"Sure  thing!"  It  was  Sim  Burns,  rather  defensive  in 
his  manner.    "Why  shouldn't  they?" 

The  editor  shrugged.  His  blue  eyes  were  very  bright, 
but  unsmiling;  very  quick  in  their  darting  from  face  to 
face,  but  not  shifting  —  just  prying,  roving,  alive  and  alert. 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  stand  in  the  way,"  he  said, 
"Taxes." 

Wes  Hubbard  rose. 

"I  guess  that  th'  people  understand  pretty  well  that 
th'  country's  goin'  to  be  better  fixed  for  funds." 

"That's  why  I  came  over,  gentlemen,  to  ask,  as  a  repre- 
sentative of  the  press,  about  the  revised  assessments." 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  group;  men  drew  closer  together. 


TIMBER  227 

"That'll  come  out  when  th'  boards  of  review  meet.'* 

''And  maybe  it'll  come  out  sooner!"  There  was  a  snap 
to  the  old  editor's  voice;  he  moved  a  step  nearer  the  faces 
which  had  slowly  formed  in  a  group  before  him.  The  atti- 
tudes of  lounging  had  given  way  to  a  tensity  —  like  the 
tensity  of  his  own  manner.  "I  want  to  know  who's  going 
to  pay  the  bill." 

Some  one  coughed.  Henry  Wales  sniffed  and  eyed  his 
cigar. 

"  That's  all  fixed,  Hump, "  Hubbard  said.  ''  There  won't 
be  any  hardship  for  anybody  that  ain't  got  it  comin'." 

"Let's  understand  one  another,  gentlemen.  Let's  get 
down  to  brass  tacks.  I  understand  that  the  valuation  on 
Foraker's  Folly  is  to  be  raised  until  the  sum  realized  will 
pay  interest  and  create  sinking  funds  for  all  these  bonds. " 

Sim  Burns  snapped:  "No  more  'n  fair!  No  more  'n 
legal;  I've  only  followed  the  law  in  makin'  my  assess- 
ment. " 

The  editor's  blue  eye  whipped  to  him.  "  Only  followed 
what  law?" 

"State  tax  law,"  color  mounting,  lower  lip  drooping. 
"You  stood  by  Foraker;  you  stood  by  his  girl.  You 
believed  they  could  grow  timber  out  there  an'  they  have. 
Now  do  you  want  to  stand  between  'em  an'  th'  bill  for 
that  privilege?  Want  to  be  a  party  to  defrauding  the 
people  of  this  coimty  out  of  their  just  tax  income?" 

There  was  menace  in  him  as  he  stepped  forward,  fists 
half  clenched.  Others  glanced  at  him  as  though  his 
challenge  gave  them  assurance. 

"You,  Burns,  and  all  of  you  know  my  attitude  on  the 
matter  of  taxing  timber.  There's  no  need  of  discussing 
that.   I'm  here  to  discuss  a  matter  of  justice." 


228  TIMBER 

'  "  Justice ! "  scoffed  Sim.  "Justice?  You  think  it's  fair  for 
a  big  rich  property  like  that  to  get  out  of  paying  its  share?" 

"I  think  it  is  illegal  for  any  large  interest  to  shirk  its 
share  of  public  expense.  I  think  it  is  criminal  for  tax 
officers  to  aid  and  abet  any  interest  in  avoiding  its  just 
burden.  That  is  why  I  have  come  —  on  a  matter  of 
justice." 

He  moved  forward  again  and  drew  his  pudgy  figure  up. 
His  face  was  flushed,  his  eyes  flashing  cold  fire.  He  seemed 
to  grow  in  stature  as  his  voice  mounted.  The  old  man 
poised  there,  face  to  face  with  Burns,  and  then  let  his  gaze 
travel  the  group,  as  though  finished  with  the  one  man. 
The  silence  was  acute.  A  fly,  bumping  against  the  window, 
sounded  large  in  it.  There  was  portent  in  the  gesture  of 
Bryant's  half-lifted  hand. 

He  relaxed  suddenly,  and  a  smile  ran  down  into  his 
beard. 

"Understand  me,  gentlemen,  I  came  not  as  a  trouble 
maker,  not  as  a  kicker  against  improvements,  but  on  a 
simple  matter  of  simple  justice.  The  people  of  this 
country  understand  your  plan  thoroughly.  Foraker's 
Folly  is  to  pay  the  bill  for  these  improvements.  Chief 
Pontiac  Power  and  Jim  Harris  are  to  benefit  by  them 
directly,  and  the  people  are  to  benefit  by  boasting  a  new 
public  building. 

"I  want  to  call  your  attention  to  this  fact;  Chief 
Pontiac  Power,  all  its  holdings,  its  three  dams,  its  three 
power  plants,  its  flowage  rights,  its  unused  key  positions, 
its  monopoly  of  the  power  possibilities  in  this  country, 
its  subsidiary,  the  Harris  Development  Company,  is 
assessed  at  a  valuation  of  two  hundred  thousand." 

He  paused  and  his  eyes  sought  the  face  of  Art  Billings 


TIMBER  229 

which  had  paled  suddenly  and  who  seemed  to  shrink  from 
Bryant's  scrutiny. 

"  I  haven't  heard  you  making  a  noise  about  raising  the 
assessment  of  Chief  Pontiac  in  your  township  to  a  cash- 
value  basis,  Art!'' 

Even  the  fly  was  silent. 

The  blue  eyes  swept  the  faces  again  and  the  editor's 
voice  rose  a  bit,  not  quite  steady,  as  he  strove  to  hold  his 
anger  down. 

"I  haven't  heard  any  of  you  objecting  to  the  low  assess- 
ment of  this  corporation,  which,  as  any  of  us  know,  will 
run  over  six  million  dollars  cash  value!  More,  market 
value!  I've  heard  a  mighty  roar  against  Foraker's  Folly; 
I  haven't  heard  a  whisper  against  Chief  Pontiac  —  I'm 
not  going  to  discuss  this;  I'm  not  going  to  ask  you  why?" 
a  ripple  of  relief  ran  over  the  group.  'Tm  going  to  tell 
you  why!" 

His  voice  had  leaped  to  a  roar  and  his  hand  went 
quickly  to  his  pocket,  bringing  forth  the  worn  notebook. 
The  silence  was  painful  as  he  drew  down  his  spectacles 
from  his  forehead  and  fumbled  the  pages. 

''I  have  here  memoranda  which  interests  me,  and  will 
interest  you,  and  will  interest  perhaps  —  perhaps,  the 
electorate,  perhaps  the  tax  commission,  perhaps  the 
prosecuting  attorney  of  this  county  if  properly  urged  by 
the  governor  of  our  great  state. " 

He  looked  into  the  book. 

"I  read  at  random:  At  the  top  of  the  page,  I  find  this 
date:  January  4,  1915.  Below  is  written  the  name  of 
Oliver  Bums,  uncle  of  the  present  supendsor  from  Lincoln 
township,  veteran  member  of  this  body  until  his  death. 
In  the  next  column  is  written  the  time,  1.32  p.m.;  which 


230  TIMBER 

means  at  that  moment  he  entered  the  Commercial  House 
and  ascended  the  stairs  to  the  room  of  Jim  Harris,  local 
representative  of  a  great  corporation."  He  paused,  for 
his  throat  had  tightened.  He  looked  about  almost  fiercely 
but  the  amazement  in  those  faces  gave  him  strength. 

"  I  turn  the  pages.  The  date  is  August  9, 1917.  The  first 
name  is  again  Oliver  Burns;  the  hour  is  9.16  a.m.  and 
he  went  up  to  the  same  place,  up  the  same  stairs  to  the 
same  room,  still  occupied  by  Jim  Harris,  local  representa- 
tive of  Chief  Pontiac  Power. 

''The  next  notation  is  9.47  a.m.  and  the  name  opposite 
is  Wes  Hubbard;  the  next  is  twenty  minutes  to  eleven 
and  the  name  is  Art  Billings.  The  next  was  Oren  Culman 
at  eleven  four,  and  so  on. 

"Try  another  page:  March  5,  1918.  Art  Billings  was 
early,  at  8.22.  Until  after  eleven  Mr.  Harris  had  no 
callers,  but  he  remained  in  his  room  waiting,  looking 
through  the  window  now  and  then.  At  three  minutes 
past  eleven  Wes  Hubbard  went  up  the  stairs,  at  11.22 
Oliver  Burns,  and  at  one  minute  to  noon,  Oren  Culman. 

''And  so  on,  with  little  change,  until  April  6,  1920  when 
a  new  name  appears:  that  of  Sim  Burns." 

He  stopped,  jaw  trembling. 

"You  are  all  there,  gentlemen,  on  every  page  — " 

Those  who  watched  thought  that  the  quivering  of  his 
jaw  and  the  tremor  in  his  voice  was  the  unsteadiness  of 
righteous  wrath;  but  it  was  not  that,  not  by  far.  It  was 
misgiving.  Like  a  stud-poker  player  he  let  them  look 
at  the  high  cards  which  lay  face  up  —  but  the  one  in  the 
hole  —  the  one  on  which  he  was  risking  his  stack,  was  an 
unknown  quantity  to  him  —  and  for  all  he  knew  it  might 
be  a  marked  card  and  recognizable  to  these  men. 


TIMBER  231 

Slowly  he  closed  the  book  and  stood  with  it  between 
his  palms.  No  word  of  reply  came  for  an  instant  and  then 
Sim  Burns  spoke. 

** You've  mentioned  my  uncle's  name."  His  voice  was 
thin.  *' You'd  accuse  the  dead  of  takin'  Chief  Pontiac's 
money?  You'd  slander  the  dead?" 

The  editor's  heart  pelted  at  his  ribs.  He  had  wrung  it 
from  them! 

"The  dead?  Aye,  the  dead!  And  the  living,  equally 
smirched,  will  stand  for  it!"  he  cried,  and  his  hand  clutch- 
ing the  notebook*  lashed  out  in  a  furious  gesture  as  he 
stepped  backward  to  fling  open  the  door. 

''Two  columns  of  these  notes  I've  read,  gentlemen.  Do 
you  want  me  to  read  the  third?  Do  you  want  me  to 
shout  down  these  halls  the  exact  value  of  your  thirty 
pieces  of  silver?  The  price  that  Chief  Pontiac  has  paid 
and  that  you  have  accepted  so  the  people  of  this  country 
might  be  defrauded  to  help  a  great  corporation?" 

A  movement,  sharp  and  quick  and  certain  as  Wes 
Hubbard  skipped  from  the  chairman's  platform. 

"Shut  up,  Bryant!"  he  panted.    "Hold  your  mouth!" 

His  voice  was  husky  and  he  trembled  as  he  backed 
against  the  door  to  close  it. 

The  old  man  did  not  look  at  him.  He  pushed  his  spec- 
tacles upward  and  his  eyes  firm,  assured  and  penetrating, 
ran  from  face  to  face  slowly  before  he  turned  to  look  at  the 
chairman  who  stood  there,  pale  and  shrunken. 

"If  I  don't  choose  to  shut  up?  What  then?" 

"I'll  —  we'll — ,"  stammered  Hubbard,  floundering 
for  a  threat. 

"You'll  go,  every  last  one  of  you,  to  a  larger,  finer 
building  than  this;    but  it's  a  tighter  building,   more 


232  TIMBER 

imposing  than  any  your  bonds  would  have  built;  and  as 
for  roads  —  you  may  build  them  with  your  hands,  you 
blackguards !'' 

The  epithet  popped  from  his  lips  and  he  moved  forward. 
This  brought  him  in  line  with  the  window  and  from  the 
poolroom  he  saw  Jim  Harris  emerge,  hat  back,  face  red 
with  laughter. 

**We  understand  one  another,"  he  said,  halting.  *'I 
came  on  an  errand  of  justice.  I  am  leaving  now.  If  Chief 
Pontiac  wants  to  bear  its  equitable  share  of  taxation 
for  the  fruits  that  it  will  enjoy,  I  have  no  argument.  Chief 
Pontiac  Power  does  not  want  to  be  f air,  ^^feitlemen. 
You've  put  yourself  in  the  hands  of  rascals.  '^!hte  these 
resolutions  this  afternoon  that  mean  the  ruin  of  Foraker's 
Folly  —  and, "  he  gave  the  notebook  just  the  suggestion 
of  a  brandish. 

"Otherwise,  the  matter  of  the  value  of  your  pieces 
of  silver  —  may  wait. " 

He  went  from  the  room  with  no  further  word  and  his  feet 
echoed  on  the  light  boards  of  the  stairway  as  he  descended. 
Until  he  was  gone  from  the  building,  no  man  stirred. 

"Here  comes  Jim,"  rasped  Art  Billings. 

"I  move  we  adjourn!"  This  in  a  whisper  from  Sim 
Burns. 

"You  can't  adjourn;  we  ain't  been  called  to  order," 
mumbled  Hubbard. 

"To  hell  with  that!"  cried  Sim.  "He's  got  it  on  us, 
th'  old  basterd!  Do  you  all  want  to  rot  in  jail?  Clear 
out  before  Harris  gets  here  or  you'll  be  hoppin'  from  the 
fryin'  pan  into  th'  coals!" 

They  went  with  a  thundering  of  feet  down  the  stairway 
and  scattered  in  the  dusty  thoroughfare  of  Pancake. 


TIMBER  233 

Jim  Harris  stopped  and  watched  them  go. 

*'A11  through? '^  he  asked  Henry  Wales. 

"Through  —  er  —  you  see,  Jim  —  " 

Briefly  and  nervously  the  landlord  told  his  guest  the 
story,  and  Harris'  face  darkened.  He  made  no  threats 
then,  for  he  knew  that  like  mercy,  corruption  touches 
him  who  gives  and  him  who  receives.  He  stood  still, 
gazing  blankly  at  the  ojffice  of  the  Blueberry  Banner, 

Hump  Bryant  was  at  the  telephone,  tongue  roving  his 
Hp,  eyes  smiling  happily  as  he  listened  to  the  glad  response 
of  Helen  Foraker. 

"How'd  it  happen?"  he  asked.  "Lord  knows  —  I  guess 
He  had  a  hand  in  it,  my  dear  —  " 


CHAPTER   XXII 

Taylor  and  Black  Joe  were  back  in  the  forest  by  late 
afternoon.    Helen  was  gone. 

They  went  first  to  the  men's  shanty  where  Joe  removed 
the  worn  and  shabby  suit  he  kept  for  such  a  rare  event 
as  a  trip  to  Pancake  and  was  struggling  into  overalls 
and  a  work  shirt  when  John,  importuned  by  Bobby  to 
come  and  fix  his  see-saw,  started  toward  the  big  house. 
Joe  paused  in  his  dressing. 

"Say!"  John  stopped.  Joe  cleared  his  throat  unneces- 
sarily. ''Tell  her,"  he  growled,  ''that  I  went  to  town 
an'  that  I'm  back." 

His  voice  was  gruffer  than  ever,  but  John  smiled  as  he 
walked  away.  Joe,  who  would  not  even  speak  to  the 
sour  Aunty  May,  sending  her  this  trivial  message  of  his 
well  being! 

He  busied  himself  with  the  board  and  horse  which  made 
the  children's  teeter  and  saw  Aunty  May  come  to  the 
door,  mixing  bowl  on  her  hip,  and  glance  at  the  children 
briefly,  and  look  at  length  toward  the  men's  shanty.  She 
did  this  again  and  a  third  time;  on  her  next  appearance 
she  came  outside. 

"Helen  went  to  town,"  she  volunteered. 

"Yes?" 

"Hump  Bryant  telephoned  some  news  that  made  her 
glad.  She's  gone  to  bring  him  out  for  Sunday  with  the 
children.    They  don't  see  their  Grandpa  Humpy  much." 

234 


TIMBER  235 

Taylor  worked  on.  "YouVe  been  away  most  all  day," 
she  said.  He  had,  he  admitted.  "Yom-  logs  most  cut?'' 
They  were.  "  I  s'pose  you  have  to  go  to  town  a  lot,  now. " 
Yes,  he  had  been  in  today. 

She  talked  with  the  manner  of  one  whose  mind  is  not 
just  on  what  she  says,  and  her  eyes  went  from  time  to  time 
to  the  men's  shanty. 

"That's  one  advantage  of  bein'  an  ornery  man.  You 
c'n  pick  up  an'  git  out  when  you  will."  Taylor  remon- 
strated that  men,  at  times,  had  obligations.  "But  when 
you're  free  you  gen'ally  can  find  some  one  to  bum  with  — 
Now  a  woman,  she  don't  like  to  go  to  town  alone. " 

And  so  on,  edging  close  to  the  question  which  was 
uppermost  in  her  mind,  inspecting  Taylor's  work  with  an 
interest  that  was  obviously  assumed.  John,  watching, 
finally  said: 

"We  were  lucky  today.  Caught  the  down  freight  and 
got  a  ride  back  to  Seven  Mile  with  Dr.  Pelly. " 

"Oh,  so  you  didn't  go  alone?" 

"No,  Joe  and  I  went  in." 

"An'  three  of  you  rode  in  that  one-seated  car  of  the 
doctor's?" 

"Plenty  of  room.   Yes  we  all  came  back  — " 

Forthwith,  she  departed  for  the  kitchen  with  the  alacrity 
of  relief  and  Taylor  chuckled.  He  heard  her  singing  a 
doleful  hynm  in  a  terrible  contralto. 

Both  funny  and  heartbreaking,  it  was,  as  Helen  had 
said.  Sour  Aunty  May,  crusty  Black  Joe;  they  would  not 
speak,  but  the  first  thought  of  each  was  for  the  other's 
welfare. 

Humphrey  Bryant  came  back  with  Helen  that  night 
and  John  joined  them  and  listened  to  the  old  editor's 


236  TIMBER 

modest  recital  of  what  had  taken  place  in  the  court  house. 
He  saw  Helen's  relief,  detected  the  justified  pride  that 
the  old  man  took  in  thwarting  Han-is'  carefully  conceived 
plan.  He  listened,  smiling,  on  the  verge  of  telling  the 
part  he  had  played  and  which  no  one  knew  but  Black  Joe 
—  the  most  important  part  in  that  day's  victory  —  when 
Helen  checked  her  laughter  and  sighed. 

"It's  only  the  skirmish.  The  real  fight  is  to  come." 
And  then  they  talked  seriously  of  what  awaited  their 
wits  and  courage.  Again  Taylor  detected  that  unyielding 
temper  in  the  girl,  stirred  against  any  man  or  influence 
that  menaced  her  forest.  It  was,  tonight,  as  though  Jim 
Harris  and  the  others  sought  her  very  life;  she  planned 
and  talked  that  tensely. 

Ezam  Grainger  had  gone,  the  new  bank  cashier,  one 
young  Wilcox,  had  arrived  the  day  before.  Ezam's  mind 
had  been  so  taken  up  with  his  wife's  trouble  that  he  had 
no  time  for  the  troubles  of  others.  He  had  been  sorry, 
but  he  could  do  nothing  for  Helen  himself  surely,  he 
thought,  the  new  man  would  renew  the  mortgage;  per- 
haps later  he  might  aid  himself,  if  help  were  still  needed. 

But  that  day  Helen  Foraker's  chief  ally  had  defied 
Pontiac  Power  and  the  corporation  would  go  out  of  its 
way  not  at  all  to  help  carry  on  the  dream  of  eternal  pine. 
Humphrey  was  going  down  state  the  first  of  the  week 
to  hunt  an  investor.  Outwardly  he  was  optimistic,  but 
he  could  not  cover  his  misgiving  and  when  Helen  indicated 
the  headlines  in  a  Detroit  paper  heralding  the  sharp 
credit  stringency,  his  pleasant  assurance  lost  its  ring 
entirely. 

They  talked  for  a  long  time  and  when  Taylor  went  out 


TIMBER  237 

Helen    followed    him    down    the    steps.     Bryant's   eyes 
followed,  too,  with  a  smile  not  untouched  by  sadness. 

Sunday. 

The  children,  one  at  either  hand,»  drew  Grandpa  Humpy 
away  to  inspect  a  nest  of  hatching  chicks  and  John, 
beside  Helen,  strolled  down  the  river  to  sit  on  the  bank 
and  finally  stretch  out  beside  her  on  the  needles  and 
stare  up  into  the  pine  crowns  and  talk  —  rather  con- 
strainedly. 

Last  night  he  had  intended  to  tell  her  of  his  father's 
plan;  he  had  put  it  off  because  of  lack  of  opportunity. 
This  morning  the  flush  of  yesterday's  victory  died  before 
other  grave  problems.  She  had  troubles  enough;  tonight 
he  would  talk  to  Rowe.  Tomorrow  would  do  —  and 
perhaps  tonight's  interview  would  yield  the  hope  that 
this  obstacle  need  not  be  faced  —  such  was  the  easier 
way! 

There  was  their  moment  of  love  making  when  half 
reclining  on  the  sweet  needles  he  held  her  close  to  him 
and  felt  her  hand  stroking  his  head  and  heard  her  say 
that  she  needed  him,  that  big  as  the  forest  was  in  her 
reason  for  living  it  would  be  small,  now,  without  this 
other  thing  which  had  come  into  her  heart.  He  wanted 
to  blurt  out  his  story  of  yesterday,  of  how  he  had  held 
Jim  Harris  and  opened  the  way  for  Humphrey's  strategy, 
but  he  was  not  given  to  boasting;  he  was  reticent;  better 
to  wait  with  his  tales  of  allegiance  until  he  could  be  sure 
that  his  unthinking  enthusiasm,  his  desire  to  help  her, 
had  not  brought  her  face  to  face  with  an  unbeatable 
enemy. 

They  went  back  together,  his  elbow  touching  her  side. 


238  TIMBER 

Goddard,  on  lookout  in  Watch  Pine  —  for  the  fair  days 
had  dried  the  country  and  distant  brush  fires  sent  up 
wraiths  of  pale  smoke  —  saw  them  come  as  he  had  seen 
them  go.  His  hand  clutched  the  battered  field  glasses 
and  his  knee  against  the  rail  of  the  crow's  nest  trembled. 

Philip  Rowe  had  arrived  that  morning  and  was  in  his 
room  at  dusk  when  John's  knuckles  fell  on  the  door.  He 
received  his  caller,  deferential,  suave,  courteous,  but  now 
there  was  open  irony  in  his  manner  and  voice  as  he  bade 
Taylor  be  seated  beside  the  table  which  was  littered  with 
reports  that  Tolman  had  made,  for  the  cruiser  had  gone 
back  to  t^ie  forest  after  that  telephone  conversation  with 
old  Luke  and  covered  its  most  remote  parts  thoroughly. 

No  words  were  bandied  this  time.  Taylor  came  to  the 
point  at  once. 

"Evidently  I  started  the  thing  that  I  was  trying  to 
make  impossible." 

Rowe  shrugged  and  smoked  deliberately. 

"Your  father  never  did  fancy  long-time  investments; 
and  he's  a  bit  touchy  on  any  matter  of  conservation.  It 
doesn't  sound  practical  to  him." 

"Did  you  tell  him  what  I  told  you  about  the  work  that 
this  pine  represents,  about  the  fact  that  a  girl  has  been 
carrying  the  load  alone?" 

He  put  that  question  sharply  and  Rowe's  gaze  locked 
with  his;  the  lip  over  his  cigar  moved  slightly. 

"I  told  him  everything  you  said,  Taylor,"  defensively. 
"Are  you  thinking  that  I  deliberately  caused  trouble 
between  you  and  your  father?" 

There  was  bravado  in  that  question,  a  show  of  fearless 
frankness,  which  did  not  sound  real.    Quickly  Taylor 


TIMBER  239 

reflected;  Rowe  had  been  close  to  his  father  and  Marcia 
Murray  more  than  once  intimated  that  his  position  might 
be  dangerous.  Memory  of  those  hints  stirred  dormant 
suspicion  and  as  he  looked  into  the  glitter  of  the  eyes  that 
clung  to  his  John  beUeved  that  he  had  grounds  for  that 
misgiving. 

*'No  I  don't  think  that,  yet,  Rowe." 

'' Meaning  that  you  think  that  you  will  think  it!" 
laughing. 

"Perhaps." 

Rowe  laughed  again. 

"There's  no  need  of  your  losing  your  temper  because 
you  made  your  father  lose  his,"  he  said.  "You'vera  good 
opportunity  here  yet.  You  and  your  father  don't  think 
alike  on  a  great  many  things;  there's  no  point  on  which 
you  could  differ  any  more  than  on  this  pine  deal.  No  use 
trying  to  impress  you  with  his  appetite  for  Michigan  pine. 
'You  understand  that  as  well  as  I  do.  Perhaps  there  is  one 
thing  about  him  you  don't  realize  and  that  is  that  when  it 
comes  to  a  deal  involving  something  he  wants  and  which 
somebody  else  wants,  too,  he's  a  steam  roller!  He  has 
the  money,  he  has  the  determination,  and  he  has  — 
damned  little  regard  for  what  other  people  want. 

"He  wants  this  pine.  We've  looked  it  over  carefully, 
not  only  the  timber  but  its  backing.  That  backing  is 
damned  shaky.  Taylor,  I  understand  there  was  a  little 
inside  political  excitement  yesterday  and  Miss  Foraker 
won.  Well,  that's  only  a  stop-gap.  These  fellows  have 
the  law  with  them  and  in  the  end,  which  isn't  very  far 
away,  they'll  get  her. 

"There's  another  thing.  This  bank  holds  a  mortgage 
for  twenty  thousand  on  a  part  of  the  forest  and  there's 


240  TIMBER 

no  chance  of  their  renewing  it.  She  can't  get  the  money 
anywhere  else  unless  she's  got  better  credit  than  most  of 
us,  and  the  foreclosure  will  pretty  well  upset  her  scheme 
for  logging  as  you  outlined  it  the  other  day.  And  there 
are  other  things,  several — "  He  paused  and  eyed  his 
cigar.  "You've  never  liked  me  very  well,  Taylor;  I've 
known  it.  I'm  now  in  a  position  to  make  you  or  break 
you  as  far  as  your  future  with  your  father  is  concerned. 
I  have  full  authority  to  act  for  him  on  this  matter  and 
if  you  doubt  it,  try  to  get  in  touch  with  him  either  by 
telephone  or  by  a  trip  home."  He  paused  to  let  that 
sink  in. 

"I  don't  want  to  do  anything  that's  unfair."  He  eyed 
the  tendril  of  cigar  smoke.  Some  one  entered  the  next 
room.  Muffled  voices,  which  neither  of  them  heeded. 
"If  you  want  to  come  in  on  this  deal  with  us,  see  it  from 
your  father's  way  and  help,  it  may  do  a  lot  to  re-estabhsh 
you  in  his  favor.  Just  now,  you're  not  worth  a  white  chip. 
He  has  a  pretty  good  reason  to  believe,  too,  that  you're 
somewhat  prejudiced  by  your  interest  in  Miss  Foraker." 

His  manner  was  stinging  and  John  rose. 

"We'll  leave  Miss  Foraker  out  of  this, "  he  said  sharply. 

Howe's  brows  lifted.  The  voices  in  the  next  rooom 
broke  off. 

"What  influence  she  has  on  me  is  none  of  your  affair 
and  none  of  my  father's.  We're  talking  a  timber  deal; 
not  something  personal.  The  girl  concerns  only  me.  It 
was  my  idea  and  I  am  going  to  insist  on  having  things  my 
way  if  I  go  in  at  all. 

"I  came  up  here,  I  saw  the  timber  and  its  possibilities. 
Why,  there's  money  in  it,  Rowe,  lots  of  money  for  my 
father  and  for  me!    The  fact  that  Miss  Foraker  is  in  a 


TIMBER  241 

pinch  gives  us  a  chance  to  be  in  on  the  deal  at  all.  If  she 
weren't  pressed  for  money  we'd  never  get  in.  I  want  to 
do  this,  Rowe,  as  much  as  my  father  ever  wanted  to  cut 
pine  in  his  life.  I  can't  do  it  alone.  I  need  his  help  and 
understanding. 

"You  can  help  me  in  this  if  you  will.  You  have  the 
authority  to  act  for  my  father.  You're  on  the  ground. 
You  have  cruiser's  report  on  the  values.  I  make  this 
sporting  proposition  to  you:  Help  me  out,  interest  my 
father  in  the  plan  I've  put  up  to  you  and  we'll  pull  together 
in  a  combination  that  can't  lose. 

"The  timber's  there;  you  can't  get  away  from  that; 
she's  grown  it  to  saw-log  size.  She's  done  it  alone  and 
she's  reached  the  end  of  her  rope.  Look  at  the  thing 
from  my  point  of  view.  Get  behind  me  with  my  father's 
money  and  I'll  stake  everything  I  hold  dear  on  the  bet 
that  we'll  clean  up." 

He  stopped  rather  breathless.  Rowe  cleared  his  throat. 
From  the  other  room  the  sound  of  footsteps,  a  closing  door. 
Men  went  down  the  hall. 

"And  suppose  I  tell  you  I  am  not  interested  in  seeing 
it  your  way  any  more  than  your  father  is?" 

"Then  it  will  be  up  to  me  to  fight  you  both!" 

A  gleam  of  triumph  swept  Rowe's  face.  "You  mean 
that?    That  you  will  fight  your  father  in  this  thing?" 

"You  heard  me!" 

"And  you  want  me  to  tell  him  this?"  leaning  forward 
in  his  chair.  "You  want  me  to  tell  him  that  you  will 
actually  fight  him?  That  you  will  not  even  stand  aside?" 

Color  flooded  Taylor's  face.  "Tell  him  just  that,"  he 
muttered.  "Tell  him  that  I  have  made  my  choice,  that 
I  stand  by  the  forest.    I  don't  relish  fighting  him  —  but 


242  TIMBER 

I'm  ready  to  go  the  limit.  That's  final,  Rowe.  That's  all 
I  have  to  say." 

The,  other  rose  and  put  down  his  cigar. 

"It  will  interest  him,"  he  said  ironically.  "It  will 
interest  him  more  than  anything  has  since  you  first 
mentioned  the  timber.  I — "  his  eyes  ran  over  Taylor's 
face  craftily.  "I  will  go  back  tonight  with  your 
message.  Beyond  a  doubt  you  will  hear  of  it  —  and 
before  long." 

They  stood  silent  a  moment. 

"Then  we  understand  each  other,"  said  Taylor  and 
with  no  more  took  his  hat  and  walked  out.  He  went 
down  the  stairs,  down  the  steps  and  along  the  walk.  He 
did  not  notice  the  two  figures  on  the  hotel  verandah, 
two  men  who  stopped  talking  when  he  came  out  and 
watched  him  go.  He  was  in  a  swirl  of  impulses.  Go  to 
Detroit  and  face  his  father?  No,  that  would  do  no  good. 
Stay  here,  confide  in  Helen,  simimon  Humphrey  Bryant 
and  plan  their  campaign  of  resistance?  Or  think  it  out 
himself?  There  was  time  —  and  he  again  shrank  from 
the  ordeal  of  making  Helen  know  what  he  had  brought 
upon  her  by  trying  to  help. 

In  his  room  Phil  Rowe  lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  looked  at 
his  reflection  in  the  faulty  mirror  and  smiled. 

"That  makes  it  very  simple."  He  laughed  nervously. 
"John  Taylor  —  as  an  heir,  you're  a  wash-out  —  and 
as  for  this  other,  I'll  strike  so  quick  you'll  not  get  your 
breath!" 

On  the  verandah  Milt  Goddard  leaned  closer  to  Jim 
Harris. 

"I  knew  it  all  along, "  he  said,  thickly,  watching  Taylor. 


TIMBER  243 

"  I  knew  he  wasn^t  on  the  level  and  didn't  mean  any  good 
by  her." 

''Course,  it's  none  of  my  business,  Milt,  but  I  never 
like  to  see  a  square  girl  get  taken  in.  Miss  Foraker  don't 
like  me,  thinks  I  don't  like  her,  but  maybe  she'll  wake 
up  and  find  out  who  her  friends  are  —  some  day. " 

He  sighed  in  satisfaction  and  half  closed  his  eyes  and 
scarcely  heard  Goddard's  heavy  threats,  made  against 
Taylor. 

All  last  night  Harris  had  lain  awake,  trying  to  deter- 
mine just  what  had  struck  his  plan  yesterday  to  knock  it 
into  a  cocked  hat.  Humphrey  Bryant  had  been  the 
agency,  yes,  but  there  was  something  else,  he  felt,  some- 
thing beneath  the  surface. 

His  day  had  been  replete  with  serious  conversations. 
First  had  been  one  with  Rowe  in  which  names  and  figures 
and  details  were  discussed.  Then  he  had  summoned 
the  boy  Lucius  and  talked  gravely  to  him  —  so  gravely 
and  earnestly  that  the  lad's  eyes  bulged  and  when  he  left 
Jim's  room  he  walked  with  the  bearing  of  one  who  is 
excited  by  great  responsibility.  And  then  he  talked  with 
Henry  Wales,  his  good  nature  giving  way  to  hardness; 
Sim  Burns  came  to  see  him  and  they  were  locked  up  for 
an  hour. 

These  conferences  were  followed  by  a  gossipy  journey 
up  and  down  the  street  ending  in  the  poolroom  where  the 
proprietor  laughed  with  him  over  Black  Joe's  Bunion 
story;  but  in  the  midst  of  the  laugh  Harris  sobered  and 
smoked  a  moment  and  asked  questions  —  about  Black 
Joe's  coming,  about  young  Taylor;  and  when  he  learned 
that  they  had  asked  about  his  cigars  and  his  habits  the 
other  man  said: 


244  TIMBER 

''That  Taylor's  a  funny  cuss,  ain't  he?  Yesterday 
he  seemed  more  interested  in  the  clock  than  he  did  in  what 
Joe  had  to  say." 

"Yes,  he  — huh?  The  clock!"  Harris  stared  blankly 
at  the  other  a  moment  and  then  picked  the  band  from 
his  cigar  carefully. 

"By  the  way,  Jim,  what's  this  story  about  the  Foraker  girl 
gettin'  Hump'  to  sit  on  the  road  and  court  house  plans?" 

"All  rot!  There's  a  kink  in  the  tax  law  they  brought 
up,"  he  lied,  "and  they're  trjdn'  to  dodge  taxes,  but 
they'll  never  get  away  with  it;  not  while  I'm  interested 
to  see  the  country  prosper." 

"Dirty  work,  eh?  Is  that  so!  Always  knew  Hump  was 
a  nut,  but  never  s'posed  he  was  crooked. " 

"No,  none  of  you  ever  did.  He  makes  a  dog's  hind  leg 
look  like  a  straight  line.  But  wait  —  you  wait.  Some- 
thin's  going  to  drop!" 

Shortly  thereafter  he  walked  out  and  as  he  passed  the 
Banner  office  he  looked  at  the  litter  behind  the  dusty 
windows  malevolently. 

"You're  one,  Hump'  Bryant  —  and  young  Taylor 
makes  two  —  I'll  get  you  as  sure  as  water  runs  down  hill!" 

It  was  dusk  when  John  and  Bryant  and  Goddard  drove 
into  town.  Harris  watched  them  from  the  hotel  verandah, 
studying  Milt's  sullen  manner  toward  young  Taylor. 
He  knew  men  and  motives,  did  Harris.  Little  of  the  bear- 
ing of  men  escaped  him,  because  frictions  were  the  mate- 
rial with  which  he  could  always  work. 

Taylor  went  into  the  hotel  and  Goddard  came  to  sit 
beside  Harris.  Later  they  also  went  upstairs,  for  Harris 
had  something  important  to  say  to  the  big  woodsman. 
He  did  not  need  to  say  it,  however,  the  long  arm  of 


TIMBER  245 

coincidence  reached  out  that  evening  and  drew  four  men 
together,  and  through  the  thin  partition  Milt  Goddard 
heard  from  Taylor's  own  hps  all  that  Harris  had  wanted 
to  tell  him.  After  that  they  went  down  to  the  verandah 
and  smoked  again  —  and  the  work  was  done. 

Harris  smiled  contentedly  when  Goddard  walked  away 
to  join  Taylor  and  drive  back  to  the  forest. 

Milt  scarcely  spoke  on  the  trip,  but  watched  John  care- 
fully, patient  and  planning.  He  had  given  an  empty 
warning  to  Helen  and  now  backing  for  it  had  fallen,  as  it 
were,  from  the  sky.  He  would  not  strike  too  quickly! 
He  would  let  this  upstart  go  to  the  end  of  his  rope  and 
bring  him  up  sharply!  Helen  Foraker  would  know 
whom  she  could  trust! 

Two  long-distance  calls  went  out  of  Pancake  that 
evening,  the  one  to  Luke  Taylor  and  the  other  to  Marcia 
Murray  at  Windigo  Lodge,  and  when  they  were  both 
accomplished  Rowe  went  to  drive  with  Harris.  While 
they  rolled  slowly  down  the  river  road  Rowe  listened, 
rather  startled  at  times,  but  always  reassured  by  what 
his  companion  had  to  say. 

"I'd  figured  I  might  have  trouble  with  Milt,  but  it  was 
as  easy  as  kissin'  a  pretty  girl.  For  years  he's  been  sweet 
on  her;  he's  been  green-eyed  ever  since  Taylor  got  the 
inside  track. 

"S'  help  me,  I  didn't  know  you  and  Taylor  were 
upstairs!  But  Goddard  stood  in  my  room  and  heard  with 
his  own  ears  the  young  cub  beg  you  for  help  —  and  it 
soimded  just  like  he  wanted  to  cut  that  pine  himself,  the 
way  he  put  it!  Better  than  any  lie  /  could  have  thought 
up!   Oh-ho,  that's  rich!" 


246  TIMBER 

"But  you  got  him  out  just  in  time." 

"Lord,  it  had  my  heart  in  my  throat!  I  couldn't  hustle 
him  out  fast  enough.  I  figured  any  minute  the  kid  'uld 
blow  up  and  cuss  you  out. " 

Further  on: 

"But  won't  Goddard  blow  to  Miss  Foraker?"  Rowe 
asked. 

"Hell,  maybe  Taylor  will  himself.  But  there's  a  bigger 
chance  that  Goddard  suspects  Taylor  is  on  his  dad's  side 
and  if  we  can  get  'em  fighting  among  themselves,  it'll  be 
all  down  hill  and  shady. 

"I  tell  you,  Rowe,  you  don't  want  to  underestimate  the 
kid!  He  put  one  over  on  me  Saturday  and  if  we  don't 
scotch  him  he'll  make  more  trouble  —  but  he's  gone  on 
the  girl,  and  she's  a. bug  about  that  pine  of  hers,  and 
Goddard  is  nuts  about  her  and  jealous  of  Taylor  and  thinks 
Taylor  is  tryin'  to  force  her  to  sell  —  and  there  you  are! 

"  The  iron  is  hot,  my  friend.  Better  grab  your  hammer ! " 

"He  thinks  I'm  going  back  to  Detroit  tonight.  But 
there'll  be  no  grass  under  my  feet!  I'll  talk  to  her  before 
the  dew's  dry  in  the  morning!" 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

Philip  Rowe's  interview  with  Helen  may  be  divided 
into  two  parts.  The  first  is  unimportant  to  this  narrative. 
Keenly  planned,  adroitly  manoeuvered,  he  brought 
the  talk  up  to  the  point  of  values  and  put  his  request  for 
an  option. 

The  man  had  aroused  the  girl's  distrust  from  the 
beginning;  he  came  unannounced,  he  was  so  low  spoken, 
so  sure;  his  eyes  were  so  steady.  She  listened  to  what  he 
had  to  say  carefully,  talking  little,  telling  herself  that 
he  was  trying  to  draw  her  out,  while  he  appeared  to  be 
telling  of  himself  and  his  wants. 

"The  forest  isn't  for  sale,"  she  said  simply,  when  he 
stopped. 

"  So  we  have  understood.  But  circumstances,  I  thought, 
might  have  changed  your  mind.  We  have  all  respect  for 
your  ability,  but  we  realize  that  the  load  is  becoming  too 
much  for  one  of  limited  resources  to  carry. " 

His  oily  assurance  nettled  her. 

"  I  think  I  am  the  best  judge  of  that. " 

He  shrugged.  "For  instance,  there  is  the  matter  of 
taxes. " 

"That  is  serious,  of  course,  but  state  legislation  is 
pending  to  remove  that  obstacle." 

"  One  can  never  be  certain.  Miss  Foraker,  of  the  promises 
of  politicians. "  She  started  to  interrupt  and  said :  "  Our 
senator,  Humphrey  Bryant — "  But  he  went  on,  looking 
hard  into  her  eyes,  "or  the  tenure  of  oflBice  of  —  states- 

247 


248  TIMBER 

men.  Besides,  you  are  in  debt;  your  obligations  are 
coming  due  and  money  is  very  hard  to  get  on  timber  now. " 
His  tone  was  becoming  ironical. 

Helen  sat  back  in  her  chair,  feeling  weak  and  dizzy. 
His  manner  pierced  her  assurance,  his  knowledge  of  her 
affairs  shook  her  self-confidence. 

''You  know  a  great  deal  about  my  troubles,"  she  said 
evenly. 

He  bowed  his  sleek  head.  ''Business  men  no  longer  do 
business  in  the  dark.  Miss  Foraker." 

''But ,  when  I  tell  you  that  the  property  isn't  for  sale — " 

"It  is  not  convincing.''  Beneath  his  suavity  was  some- 
thing terrible,  hard  and  brutal;  he  no  longer  smiled,  but 
leaned  forward  intently. 

"You're  a  young  woman  standing  alone  under  a  terrible 
burden.  You  have  proven  your  point,  that  timber  can 
be  grown  as  a  crop.  That  should  satisfy  you  and  you 
should  let  go.  Your  whole  life  is  before  you.  It  isn't 
proper  that  you  should  slave  on  here,  headed  straight 
for  ruin.  Besides, "  drily ,"  a  man  of  powerful  interests 
wants  what  you  have  created,  is  willing  to  pay  you  a  good 
price,  but  he  wants  it.  That  is  what  counts  with  him,  that 
is  what  should  count  with  you,  if  you  are  —  wise. " 

He  lowered  his  voice  on  the  last  word  and  in  its  flatness 
was  a  suggested  threat. 

"I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  him." 

"He  does  not  know  what  disappointment  is."  When 
her  eyes  widened  at  his  statement  he  smiled  for  the  first 
time.  "He  knows  only  triumph.  He  knows  only  how 
to  win!" 

Her  color  mounted.    "Are  you  threatening  me?" 

He  spread  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of  humility.    "Only 


TIMBER  249 

trying  to  help  you!   Asking  you  to  name  your  figure." 

"And  threatening  me  if  I  refuse!"  Her  voice  was  sharp 
and  brittle  and  brought  slow  color  to  Rowers  face. 

"You  are  too  hasty,  Miss  Foraker." 

"  Too  tardy,  I  should  say.  I  don't  care  to  sell,  Mr.  Rowe, 
and  I  have  work  to  do." 

She  rose. 

The  man  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  smiled.  "You 
have  the  courage  to  refuse  a  man  who  has  all  he  wants 
but  happiness  and  sees  happiness  in  the  possession  of 
your  forest?" 

"I  haven't  the  courage  to  give  you  what  you  want." 

He  looked  narrowly  at  her  then.  She  was  beyond  his 
experience,  neither  a  grasping  old  maid,  an  empty-headed 
girl  or  the  type  of  business  woman  he  had  ever  encoun- 
tered; young  in  years,  old  in  experience  and  her  manner 
carried  a  front  that  quite  baffled  him. 

"I  don't  wholly  understand  you,"  he  said,  as  though 
that  did  not  matter,  or  as  though  it  might  flatter  her,  "and 
perhaps  you  don't  understand  me  quite  thoroughly. 

"There  are  other  factors  involved.  You've  been  doing 
a  courageous  but  unwise  thing  by  meddling  in  politics." 

"Pontics?" 

"The  story  is  coming  out  about  Saturday's  affair  in 
the  court  house  —  oh,  yes,  I  know  about  that  too! 
Strangely,  people  throughout  the  county  do  not  seem 
to  think  as  you  think  that  their  supervisors  are  all 
scoundrels.  They  believe  that  there  was  black  work  from 
the  other  side,  from  you.  Miss  Foraker.  They  believe 
they  have  lost  their  chance  at  improvements  through 
the  efforts  of  Senator  Bryant  on  your  behalf.  Their 
temper  is  not  pleasant." 


250  TIMBER 

Helen  smiled.  "My  work  is  still  waiting.  All  this  is 
interesting,  but  there's  no  use  talking  any  more.  I'm 
sure." 

She  moved  toward  the  door  with  the  poise  and  finality 
that  sent  a  wave  of  anger  through  Rowe. 

"Miss  Foraker— " 

"Please!  Please,  don't  try  to  talk  or  argue.  I  don't 
like  your  half  threats,  Mr.  Rowe.  You  don't  frighten 
me  —  but  it  is  unpleasant.  As  far  as  your  coming  here, 
I  have  told  you  that  it  is  useless.   I  will  not  sell. " 

There  was  challenge  in  her  gesture  as  she  opened  the 
screen  door.  He  could  not  know  that  her  legs  were 
unsteady,  her  heart  racing.  He  moved  toward  the  step, 
hat  in  his  hands,  and  stood  beside  her. 

"I  will  leave  you  now,"  he  said.  ''But  I  am  coming 
again.  Had  your  work  been  a  little  less  —  er  —  pressing, 
I  might  have  told  you  more  of  what  you  face ;  but  you're 
not  interested  anyhow,  even  though  your  back  is  to  the 
wall." 

He  went  out  and  did  not  look  back. 

The  girl  moved  to  the  center  of  the  room  and  stood 
there,  hands  at  her  sides,  shoulders  a  bit  slack,  looking 
up  at  her  father's  picture  above  the  bowl  of  wild  roses  on 
the  mantel. 

"Father?"  weakly.  "Father,  I'm  frightened!  And  he 
said  I  couldn't  keep  on  and  almost  makes  me  —  believe 
it!" 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

Milt  Goddard  saw  Philip  Rowe's  departure.  He 
stepped  out  of  the  road  to  let  his  car  pass  and  remained 
beside  the  ruts  watching  until  it  was  out  of  sight. 

Rowe  could  have  come  but  from  one  place  by  that  road 
and  he  hastened  on  to  the  big  house  under  Watch  Pine. 
At  the  door  he  paused  a  moment,  irresolute,  but  when 
he  stepped  in  and  saw  Helen  at  her  desk  his  indecision 
departed;  her  head  was  bowed,  arms  about  it  and  he 
saw  her  shudder.  For  the  space  of  a  dozen  breaths  he 
stood  looking  at  the  girl,  sensing  her  trouble,  but  in  his 
face  appeared  no  sympathy  —  only  joy! 

''Helen,  what  is  it?" 

He  stepped  forward  as  she  sat  erect  and  rose,  to  walk 
toward  the  mantel. 

"Nothing,"  she  replied. 

He  was  beside  her. 

"Don't  put  me  off!"  he  said  with  the  manner  of  one 
who  is  very  certain  of  himself.  "  YouVe  got  to  listen,  now. 
Maybe  if  you'd  listened  when  I  tried  to  give  you  warning 
you  wouldn't  have  been  so  upset  this  morning. " 

His  assurance,  his  evident  knowledge  of  what  had 
happened,  startled  her. 

"Warning?  What  do  you  mean?  Do  you  know  what 
has  happened?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  I  can  make  a  good  guess;  and  to 
make  a  good  guess  a  man  has  to  know  something!^* 

251 


252  TIMBER 

'^You  talked  to  — that  man?" 

"To  Rowe?"  He  shook  his  head.  "IVe  never  spoken 
a  word  to  hun,  but  I  know  what  he  was  here  for."  His 
mouth  twisted  in  a  half  smile  of  triumph.  The  girl  stood 
staring  at  him  while  voices  came  to  them  from  the  river: 
a  sharp  command  and  excited  response,  as  the  last  of  the 
hardwood  logs  swung  round  the  bend.  "He  came  to 
buy  you  out,  didn't  he?" 

"Yes,  I  refused,  of  course,  and  he  went  away  making 
threats.   He  knows  all  about  us,  Milt!" 

"He  knows  all  about  us!"  he  echoed  and  laughed 
briefly.  "And  that's  what  I  tried  to  tell  you  once  and  you 
wouldn't  listen." 

She  caught  her  breath. 

"I  don't  understand  you." 

Until  then  he  had  been  tense,  almost  belligerent;  but 
with  her  last  words  he  relaxed  and  looked  away,  because 
he  did  not  want  her  to  detect  his  gladness.  She  was  begging 
him,  now,  to  reveal  what  he  knew  and  the  groundless 
warning  which  he  had  given  weeks  ago  loomed  large 
and  real;  Taylor  was  a  traitor  in  her  camp  and  he  could 
prove  it.  With  Taylor  gone,  with  his  own  sagacity 
proven  —  It  was  a  sweet  moment  for  Milt  Goddard! 

The  averting  of  his  face  set  eyes  toward  the  river. 
Taylor  and  two  others  worked  to  free  a  raft  from  the  bend 
in  which  it  had  lodged.  He  saw  John's  lithe  body  put 
its  strength  to  the  pike  pole,  saw  the  logs  sink  beneath  him 
as  he  shoved. 

"Once  you  told  me  I  was  your  good  friend,"  he  began. 
"You  still  think  that,  don't  you,  Helen?" 

"Of  course,  Milt." 

"It's  the  place  of  a  man  to  look  out  for  his  friends,  I 


TIMBER  253 

take  it.  IVe  tried  to  look  out  for  you,  but  you  couldn't 
see  it  that  way.   You  thought  it  was  another  thing." 

His  thumbs  were  hooked  in  his  belt  and  he  stood  very 
close  to  her. 

"I  have  worked  for  you,  Helen,  I've  fought  for  you  once 
or  twice  when  it's  been  necessary.  I've  took  all  the 
interest  any  man  could  take  in  this  forest  when  it's  stood 
between  you  —  and  me.  I  told  you  once  that  sometimes 
I  hated  it.  That's  right.  I  do,  sometimes.  But  I've  Lept 
on  doing  my  best  for  it  because  you're  right  when  you 
say  it's  your  life.  Anything  that  might  harm  this  timber 
would  be  like  somebody  layin'  hands  on  you  and  that's  why 
I  can  stand  it.  If  I've  done  that,  ain't  it  right  for  you  to 
expect  that  whatever  I  do  is  for  your  good?  Ain't  it 
reasonable  for  me  to  think  that  you'd  —  trust  me?" 

'*I  do  trust  you,  I  always  — " 

"Not  always,"  he  interrupted,  voice  rising  slightly. 
"I  tried  to  warn  you  once,  but  you  put  me  off.  It's  been 
hard  enough  to  keep  still  and  wait  for  proof  when  I  knew 
the  Folly  was  in  danger,  but  that  wasn't  nothin'  compared 
to  how  hard  it  was  to  keep  quiet  when  I  knew  —  after  I 
saw  him  kiss  you." 

One  of  the  girl's  hands  went  slowly  to  her  breast. 
Goddard's  face  darkened. 

"I  did  see  that,"  voice  trembling.  ''I  looked  through 
that  window  and  saw  it!  I  saw  him  hold  you  in  his  arms 
and  saw  him  kiss  you,  and  you  —  you  didn't  drive  him 
off  as  you  would  any  other  man  who  come  to  strike  at 
this  pine,  which  is  your  life. " 

"At  the  pine!   Milt?" 

Her  hand  dropped  to  his  arm  and  gripped  the  great 
muscles. 


254  TIMBER 

"You  told  me  you  didn^t  have  time  to  love  because 
this  forest  was  your  life;  you've  been  fooled,  Helen, 
fooled  by  a  slick  tongue  and  —  and  —  you've  been  blind 
to  what's  goin'  on.  You've  not  only  risked  losin'  what 
you  call  your  life,  but  you've  risked  breakin'  your  heart!  I 
can't  talk  the  way  he  can,  but  I  can't  lie  the  way  he  can  1 
I  can't  lie  with  words,  I  can't  live  a  lie!  Oh,  I  knew!  I 
knew  from  the  beginnin'.  I  couldn't  be  quite  sure  then, 
and  you  wouldn't  believe  me  —  But  I  am  sure  now !  I 
could  tell  you  the  whole  story.  I  could  tell  you  what 
Taylor  meant  when  he  kisses  you;  I  could  tell  you  about 
this  man  Rowe,  but  I  won't.  Ask  him!"  He  flung  out 
an  arm  toward  Taylor  in  the  river.  The  girl  held  her 
eyes  on  his  and  her  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  came  from 
them.  ''Bring  him  here,"  the  woodsman  said  heavily, 
"and  I'll  make  him  tell  you!"  .;, 

For  a  moment  she  stared  into  his  face.  "You  want  me 
to  bring  —  John  Taylor  here  —  to  tell  me — ?" 

Wretched  suspicion  ran  through  her.  She  was  helpless 
to  do  else  than  yield  to  that  suspicion  before  this  man  who 
was  so  certain,  so  convincing. 

"Yes  — Now!" 

She  went  down  the  steps,  crossed  the  plot  of  dry  sod. 
Her  legs  were  not  steady.  The  one  hand  was  again  at 
her  breast.  She  did  not  consciously  move  along;  it  was  as 
though  the  will  of  the  woodsman  prompted  every  minute 
movement  of  her  body.  She  reached  the  path  beside  the 
river  bank  and  faltered  and  went  on.  Taylor,  moving 
back  to  the  high-riding  hemlock  log  in  the  center  of  the 
freed  raft,  looked  up.  He  waved  and  smiled;  and  then 
stopped  still,  for  even  at  that  distance  her  weakness  was 
evident. 


TIMBER  255 

The  hand,  which  had  been  at  her  breast,  rose  slowly 
and  beckoned. 

"You  want  me?"  he  called. 

She  tried  to  speak  but  could  not,  so  merely  nodded 
and  beckoned  again. 

He  spoke  to  the  men  with  him  and  as  the  raft  gained 
way  planted  his  pike  on  bottom  and  vaulted  across  the 
strip   of  water. 

She  had  stopped,  the  wind  whipping  her  skirt  about 
her  legs,  making  her  body  appear  to  sway  like  an  imstable 
stalk. 

''Helen,  what  is  it?"  for  he  saw  her  blanched  face  and 
parted  lips. 

"  Come, "  she  said,  hoarsely,  and  turned  while  he  was 
yet  yards  away  and  started  back  towards  the  house. 

"Tell  me,"  he  demanded,  taking  her  arm  as  he  came 
up  with  her. 

She  drew  her  elbow  away  from  his  grasp  and  looked  at 
him  as  one  who,  even  in  half  consciousness,  shrinks  from 
the  undesirable. 

"Helen?—" 

They  were  at  the  steps.  Goddard,  glowering  at  Taylor, 
held  back  the  screen  and  John  followed  the  girl  into  the 
room.  There  they  stood,  Helen  backing  against  the 
mantel  beneath  the  bowl  of  roses  and  her  father's  photo- 
graph. Taylor  looked  from  her  to  Goddard  and  caught 
the  vengeful  light  in  the  man's  gray  eyes. 

"What's  the  trouble,"  he  asked,  evenly,  some  deep-set 
impulse  rising  to  steel  him  for  a  crisis. 

Goddard  spoke. 

"There's  been  a  good  deal  goin'  on  lately  to  cause 
suspicion.   Some  of  us  have  had  our  eyes  and  ears  open. " 


256  TIMBER 

He  could  not  help  grilling  Helen  for  the  pain  she  had 
caused  him.  ''Now  it's  come  to  a  show-down,  Taylor,  and 
we  want  to  ask  you  a  few  questions. " 

His  manner  was  galling.  Resentment  rose  with  a  flush  to 
Taylor's  face,  and  behind  that  came  fear. 

But  he  said,  outwardly  at  ease,  "Fire  away." 

Goddard  looked  at  Helen,  who  had  not  moved.  Her 
breast  rose  and  fell  quickly  and  she  was  chalk  white. 

''In  the  first  place  you  know  this  man  Rowe,  and  there 
is  no  use  denyin'  it." 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  denying  it,"  he  said,  and  looked 
to  Helen  as  though  for  an  explanation  of  this  performance. 
He  saw  in  her  face  that  fright  —  and  a  growing  something 
—  suspidonf 

"I  thought  so,"  jeered  Goddard.  "Now  will  you  tell 
us  what  his  job  is?" 

"He  is  my  father's  private  secretary." 

He  saw  the  girl  start  sharply,  heard  an  inarticulate 
whisper  from  her;  saw  Milt  settle  himself  on  one  foot 
and  smile  grimly  and  nod. 

"Yeah.  Working  for  Luke  Taylor.  He  came  up  here 
for  Luke  Taylor,  didn't  he?  He  was  here  just  now  on 
your  father's  business,  wasn't  he?" 

Rowe  here!  He  had  lied,  then;  he  had  not  gone  back 
to  Detroit  last  night;  the  days  of  grace  which  John 
expected  had  not  materiaUzed.  He  had  been  tricked, 
outguessed!    It  confused  him. 

"Look  here,  Goddard  —  Helen.  This  is  something 
I've  feared  for  a  long  time.  I've  been  trying  to  work  it 
out  for  weeks  and  I've  kept  still  because  you  had  enough 
to  think  about.   I  can  explain  if  — " 

"That's  what  we  want,  Taylor,  is  for  you  to  explain. 


TIMBER  257 

We  know  the  rest  —  that  you've  known  about  this  all 
along. " 

The  man's  bitterness  was  a  trap  closing  about  him.  It 
was  bewildering,  terrible  —  it,  and  his  sense  of  guilt. 
He  was  in  a  corner,  hedged  in  by  mounting  suspicion. 

"Helen,  this  isn't  fair!" 

His  voice  sounded  strained.  His  one  hand,  uplifted, 
seemed  unconvincing,  only  a  gesture  of  supplication,  a 
plea  for  mercy. 

Helen  detected  this,  saw  his  confusion  contrasted 
with  the  certain  strength  of  Goddard,  and  color  flooded 
back  into  her  face.  The  suspicion  that  had  been  in  her 
eyes  gave  way  to  something  else,  to  actual  hostUity.  This 
man  was  also  of  that  group  for  which  she  had  no  charity. 

Taylor  read  that.  His  heart  faltered  and  the  hand  sank 
slowly,  but  as  it  went  down  something  rose  within  him: 
Pride.  He  had  been  dismayed,  shaken,  frightened,  terror- 
struck  by  the  fact  that  she  suspected  him  of  — Ah,  he  knew 
what  suspicions  his  indecision  could  nourish!  And  now 
this  other  thing  surged  up,  this  pride,  which  would  not 
let  him  beg.  They  had  snatched  at  conclusions;  he  had 
made  his  mistake,  but  they  would  not  give  him  opportu- 
nity to  clear  himself.  She  would  not  believe  him  innocent 
of  wrong  intent,  she  would  not  trust  him. 

"Yes,  I  will  tell  you  why  he  is  here,"  he  said  quietly. 
"My  father  sent  him  here  to  try  to  buy  this  forest." 

"And  how'd  he  happen  to  come?"  Goddard  advanced 
closer  with  his  question.   "Did  you  send  for  him?" 

"I  did  not  send  for  him." 

"Sure  of  that?  You  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  coming 
here?" 

"I  —  I  had  everything  to  do  with  it.   I  told  my  father 


258  TIMBER 

about  this  timber,  but  I  did  not  ask  either  of  them  to  come 
here." 

He  knew  that  his  answer  sounded  hke  an  evasion  even 
b^ore  Goddard  turned  to  nod  at  the  girl. 

''You're  wrong,"  Taylor  cried  out,  moving  forward 
impetuously,  looking  from  one  to  the  other.  ''You're  all 
wrong;  you're  misjudging  me,  you're  not  giving  me  a 
chance!" 

Something  like  hope,  he  thought,  leaped  into  the  girl's 
face,  but  Goddard  interrupted  thunderingly : 

"Chance?  What  chance  did  you  give  Helen,  here?" 

"Every  ch— " 

"No  chance  at  all!  You  brought  Rowe  here,  you  let 
him  bring  in  his  cruiser  and  go  over  the  place  and  you 
covered  it  up.  You  let  him  go  to  Detroit  and  talk  it  over 
with  your  father.  You  waited  for  him  to  get  back  yester- 
daj^  with  his  answer.  You  — " 

"You're  wrong,  I  tell  you!" 

"  Shut  up ! "  Drunk  with  the  sense  of  dominion,  Goddard 
brooked  no  interruption.  "You  went  to  Pancake  yester- 
day. You  knew  Rowe  was  there.  You  went  to  his  room 
in  the  hotel  and  talked  with  him.  You  want  your  own 
way  in  this  deal;  you  told  him  that  and  I  heard  you;  you 
ain't  fooled  me.  I've  watched  every  crooked  move  you've 
made.  'There's  money  in  it,'  you  said,  'for  my  father  and 
me.  The  fact  that  Miss  Foraker  is  in  a  pinch  gives  us  a 
chance  to  get  in  on  the  deal.  If  she  weren't  pressed  for 
money  we'd  never  get  in.' 

"You  said  that,  Taylor,  and  you  said  you  wanted  this 
as  much  as  your  father  ever  wanted  to  cut  pine  in  his  life. 
You  begged  Rowe  to  help  you  out.  Begged  him  to  get 
behind  you  with  your  father's  money.    And  you  argued 


TIMBER  259 

him  over.  He  was  here  today  to  buy  and  he  knows  the 
mess  Helen's  in  —  because  you  told  him,  because  you 
told  the  things  she  told  you,  you  snake!" 

He  had  said  those  things.  His  own  words  repeated  by 
Goddard,  pelted  in  on  his  consciousness,  battering  down 
the  strength  that  had  prompted  him  to  admit  everything 
before  coming  out  with  the  explanation;  his  words,  con- 
fused and  rendered  him  helpless. 

Again  he  turned  to  the  girl.  "Helen,  do  you  believe  — '* 

But  his  golden  moment  had  passed.  The  pride  which 
had  held  him  quiet  to  take  punishment  and  emerge  with 
an  explanation  and  clean  hands  had  robbed  him  of  the 
opportunity  to  clear  himself.  He  had  stood  quiet;  he 
had  made  no  denial  and  now  as  he  looked  at  the  girl  he 
saw  only  the  tight  set  of  her  mouth,  the  barrier  of  her 
searching  stare.  She  would  not  speak!  She  damned  him 
with  her  silence!  She  had  whispered  love  to  him  but  in  this 
moment  she  had  no  faith! 

Love?  —  That  was  no  love! 

He  could  not  know  that  beneath  that  front  Helen's 
heart  was  breaking.  She  felt  lost,  like  a  little  girl  who  is 
lost.  She  had  given  her  trust,  her  lips  to  this  man;  she 
had  challenged  Goddard  when  he  warned  against  him, 
but  Goddard  had  been  right.  John  Taylor  had  not  been 
worthy  of  her  trust,  let  alone  her  caresses  —  else  why 
that  silence?  Why  had  he  admitted  the  black  charges? 
He  had  betrayed  her  while  he  made  love!  Oh,  she  was 
sick  and  weak  and  faint,  but  her  high  temper  was  up. 
Her  forest  was  her  life.  Today  John  Taylor,  through 
Phil  Rowe,  had  struck  at  her  life!  There  could  be  no 
answer  to   that!    * 

She  moved  to  her  desk  and  sat  down,  trying  to  still  the 


260  TIMBER 

flutter  of  her  heart;  the  tremor  of  her  hands,  fighting 
back  the  blackness  that  seeped  up  to  clutch  her  con- 
sciousness. 

*'The  last  of  your  logs  will  be  at  the  mill  tonight," 
she  said.  "Here  is  last  week^s  statement.  We  will  be 
finished  with  your  cut  within  a  week. " 

This  was  dismissal  and  he  rocked  under  the  blow  of  her 
decisiveness. 

"Yes  —  finished  —  And  I  will  be  going  —  now. " 

He  turned  and  brushed  past  Goddard,  leaving  the 
house,  going  to  his  bunk,  packing  his  suitcase  with  cold 
hands,  a  fog  before  his  eyes,  rage  within  his  heart.  She 
had  no  trust  for  him,  she  would  not  listen! 

And  remorse  came  to  him  because  he  had  shrunk  from 
facing  this  situation  before,  when  there  was  time  to 
explain,  when  he  might  have  been  believed. 

Until  Taylor  had  disappeared  within  the  men's  shanty 
Milt  Goddard  stood  watching  him.  Then  he  turned. 
Helen  sat  at  her  desk,  hands  gripping  the  chair  arms  for 
a  frantic  hold  on  reality.  He  moved  toward  her  and  put  his 
big  palms  on  the  desk. 

"I  warned  you, "he  said  thickly.  "I  was  right,  wasn't 
I?    And  now  I  guess  you  know  which  man  it  is  that  — " 

"Don't  you  say  that  word!"  she  cried  hoarsely,  spring- 
ing up.  " Don't  you  say  it  to  me,  Milt  Goddard  —  Ever! — 
Nor  any  man!  Any  man! — " 

She  drew  the  back  of  one  hand  across  her  mouth  as 
though  she  would  wipe  from  it  the  memory  of  Taylor's 
kisses.  She  started  to  speak,  but  breath  caught  in  her 
throat. 

"Ever!"  she  cried  again,  chokingly  and  turned  and  fled. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

About  the  time  that  Goddard  was  putting  Taylor 
through  his  ordeal,  the  sheriff  of  Blueberry  dropped  into 
the  Banner  office.  The  editor  was  in  the  back  room  cutting 
paper  for  a  handbill  job  when  the  officer  thrust  his  head 
through  the  open  doorway. 

"Howdy,  Hump,"  he  said. 

"Many  of  'em,  Joe!  Anything  special?" 

"I'll  leave  it  on  your  desk. 

He  disappeared  and  Bryant  went  on  with  his  work, 
but  something  in  the  sheriff's  tone  lingered  as  a  dis- 
turbing echo  and  presently  he  went  into  the  front  office 
and  picked  up  the  folded  document.  He  scanned  the 
outside  carefully  and  his  lips  worked  slowly  in  the  white 
beard.  He  opened  it,  turning  it  up  so  he  could  read.  When 
he  had  read  he  sat  down  quite  suddenly,  as  though  weary 
all  at  once.  After  a  time  his  printer  came  to  the  door  and 
asked  about  the  paper. 

"I  started  cutting  it;  finish  her  up,  Will,"  he  said. 

He  rose  and  climbed  the  stairs  to  his  rooms  above. 
He  took  off  his  vest,  for  it  was  hot,  and  imbuttoned  the 
neck-band  of  his  stiff-bosomed  shirt. 

"Oh,  dear,"  he  sighed. 

He  drew  out  his  own  rocker  to  the  window  and  then 
brought  the  other  chair  from  its  corner.  He  sat  down, 
but  did  not  rock.  His  pudgy  legs  sprawled  awkwardly, 
giving  to  his  posture  a  significant  listlessness.    When  he 

261 


262  TIMBER 

did  move  it  was  to  stretch  out  a  hand  and  stroke  the 
arm  of  that  other  rocker  as  though  he  touched  the  arm 
of  a  dear  friend  for  assurance  and  sympathy  and  comfort. 

It  was  there  that  Helen  Foraker  found  him.  She  was 
well  within  the  room  before  he  was  aware  that  her  car 
had  halted  below  and  her  feet  sounded  on  the  stairs.  He 
started  up  and  summoned  a  smile. 

'* You're  a  ray  of  sunshine,"  he  said  wearily,  ''in  a 
sunny  but  dreary  day. 

''Why,  Helen!"   looking  sharply.   "What's—" 

She  turned  away  quickly  and  he  moved  toward  her. 
But  she  faced  him  with  a  sharp  movement  and  said : 

"Nothing  much  —  but  trouble!" 

Her  voice  was  hard  and  jflat  and  her  eyes  were  dry  but 
he  read  that  in  her  which  she  held  back  by  heroic  effort. 
He  stood  there  a  moment. 

"Let's  have  it  now  —  It's  hurting  you." 

And,  sitting  in  his  wife's  rocker,  she  told  the  story  of 
Rowe's  coming,  in  short  sentences,  hands  clasped  tightly 
in  her  lap,  not  looking  once  at  her  listener.   She  finished. 

"Luke  Taylor?    His  — father?" 

"Yes,  his  father,"  dully. 

The  old  man  leaned  closer  and  put  a  timid  hand  on  her 
clenched  fists.    "And  —  he  knew?" 

"He  knew,  Humphrey  —  Oh,  he  knew!" 

And  with  these  words  the  flatness  went  out  of  her  voice. 
It  was  the  cry  of  wretched  pain! 

An  hour  later:  "I  have  trusted  so  few  people  in  my  life 
and  of  them  there  has  been  only  one  worthy.  That  is  you, 
Humphrey.  I'm  depending  on  you  so,  now!"  His  eyes 
shifted  from  her  face  uneasily.     "It's  make  or  break 


TIMBER  263 

right  now.  Fin  at  the  end  of  my  rope  and  whether  I  let 
go  or  can  climb  back  depends  so  much  on  you. " 

"There  can  be  no  dodging  of  anything  now,"  he  said. 
"At  times  it  has  been  easier  to  trust  Providence  and  put 
aside  thoughts  of  threatening  influences  and  to  think 
only  of  the  present.  But  the  present  and  the  future  are 
too  closely  linked  today,  Helen.  I  have  tried  to  be  your 
helper.  I  will  try  so  long  as  my  bones  and  spirit  hold 
together,  but,  to  be  an  influence  for  good,  one  must  have 
standing,  authority  or  security —  I  have  had  little  standing 
among  the  men  of  this  county,  but  I  have  had  authority 
and  security  because  IVe  kept  my  hands  clean  while  they 
fingered  the  mire  of  political  degredation.  Until  now  I 
have  been  an  influence  because  no  man  has  dared  question 
my  integrity.  They've  dared  everything  but  that  — 
until    now. " 

"Now?" 

The  old  man  drew  the  paper  the  sheriff  had  left  from  his 
pocket,  as  if  it  required  great  physical  effort. 

"This,"  he  said,  after  an  interminable  pause  and  in  a 
voice  which  was  husked,  "is  an  order  to  appear  in  Probate 
Court  Thursday  and  show  cause  why  I  should  not  be 
removed  from  my  guardianship  of  Bobby  and  Bessy 
Kildare." 

A  flash  of  rage  showed  in  the  girl's  eyes.  "  Be  removed ! " 

"  Removed  —  They  have  looked  over  my  annual 
inventory  and  find  that  I've  loaned  fifteen  thousand 
dollars  of  the  children's  money  on  four  sections  of  your 
land.  They  are  now  calling  on  me  to  prove  that  I  have 
not  mishandled  the  funds  left  to  my  keeping. " 

"But  you  can.  Fifteen  thousand  —  and  for  four 
sections!" 


204  TIMBER 

He  smiled  wistfully. 

"I  have  not  betrayed  my  trust;  I  have  not  made 
unwise  investments.  I  can  show  that.  Although  our 
national  idea  of  justice  is  to  consider  the  accused  innocent 
until  he  is  proved  guilty,  in  practice  the  accused  is  damned 
forever.  He  may  escape  legal  punishment,  he  may  prove 
that  he  has  been  besmirched  by  foul  hands  for  despicable 
reasons,  but  he  can  never  quite  live  down  the  question 
that  was  raised. 

"I  have  trod  upon  the  toes  of  a  great  power,  of  Chief 
Pontiac  himself,  and  this  is  his  method  of  fighting  back. 
It's  a  good  one  —  questioning  the  guardianship  of  a  man 
over  orphans!" 

He  cleared  his  throat  rather  vehemently. 

"There  is  no  charge  that  could  be  brought  which  would 
be  more  likely  to  ruin  a  man's  influence.  It  may  cost  me 
my  hold  over  the  board  in  this  matter  of  your  taxation. 
It  may  cost  me  my  seat  in  the  senate." 

"Oh,  not  that!  Why,  it  may  not  even  be  Harris  who  is 
behind  it." 

He  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"None  else,  my  dear.  The  complaining  witness  is 
Lucius  Kildare,  the  children's  only  living  relative.  It  is 
immaterial  to  comment  on  the  mental  calibre  of  Lucius." 

"But,  Humphrey,  if  you  prove —  " 

"Vindication  is  not  the  important  thing,  my  dear. 
When  you  say  that  you  have  relied  on  me,  you  are  right. 
When  you  say  that  I  am  your  only  trustworthy  friend, 
perhaps  you  are  nearly  right  again.  You  do  need  friends, 
but  you  need  friends  with  influence,  and  if  this  matter  ever 
reaches  a  hearing,  my  influence,  I'm  afraid,  is  gone.  I  will 
be  scoffed  at  as  a  betrayer  of  orphans. 


TIMBER  265 

"A  great  missile  to  hurl  —  a  betrayer  of  orphans!" 

"But  what  can  we  do?"  she  asked. 

The  old  man  rose.  "Do?"  he  murmured  and,  drawing 
down  his  spectacles,  walked  to  the  high  walnut  bookcase. 
He  opened  the  glass  door  and  took  down  a  huge  volume, 
bound  in  black  leather,  stamped  with  gold.  He  returned 
to  the  window  and  riffled  the  thin  pages.  Pausing  with 
a  thick  finger  on  the  passage  sought,  he  looked  at  her  with 
something  like  a  smile  in  his  eyes.  "Do?  Fight!  Fight, 
my  dear!  Fight  as  the  men  of  Henry  the  Fifth  fought  at 
Agincourt!  Fight  —  because  it  is  an  honorable  battle. 
Fight  with  the  spirit  that  Shakespeare  poured  into  the 
ruler  of  Britain.    Listen! 

"  ' — he  which  hath  no  stomach  to  this  fight, 
Let  him  depart  .  .  . 

We  would  not  die  in  that  man's  company 
That  fears  his  fellowship  to  die  with  as.  .  .  . 
He  that  outlives  this  day,  and  comes  safe  home. 
Will  stand  a  tip-toe  when  the  da}'  is  named. 
And  rouse  him  at  the  name  of  Crispian. 
He  that  shall  live  this  day,  and  see  old  age. 
Will  yearly  on  the  vigil  feast  his  neighbors,  .  .  . 
Will  he  strip  his  sleeve  and  show  his  scars. 
And  say  "These  wounds  I  had  on  Crispin's  day."  *" 

His  voice  was  profound,  speech  slow;  he  recited  more 
than  read  those  lines  which  reek  with  courage;  his  eyes 
snapped,  his  frame  seemed  straighter. 

" — 'And  Crispin  Crispian  shall  ne'er  go  by. 
From  this  day  to  the  ending  of  the  world. 
But  we  in  it  shall  be  remember'd; 


266  TIMBER 

We  few,  we  happy  few,  .  .  . 

And  gentlemen  in  England  now  a-bed 

Shall  think  themselves  accursed  they  were  not  here, 

And  hold  their  manhoods  cheap  whiles  any  speaks 

That  fought  with  us  upon  Saint  Crispin's  day.'  " 

He  closed  the  book  and  dropped  it  to  the  table. 

The  girl  rose.  Her  face  was  flushed  and  she  breathed 
rapidly.    The  call  to  battle  was  in  her  blood! 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  scars!"  she  said  unsteadily.  **With 
you,  Humphrey  —  I  will  fight  with  you!" 

He  held  out  his  arms  and  she  swung  into  them  and 
shuddered  against  his  body;  his  hands  stroked  her  hair; 
his  old  lips  went  to  her  forehead  in  a  gentle  kiss  and  he 
lifted  his  eyes  in  a  flash  of  suffering,  for  he  knew  that  upon 
her  heart  that  day  were  scars  of  which  she  never  could 
be  proud. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

And  there  Agincourt  fell  upon  them! 

The  weekly  newspaper  from  a  neighboring  county 
made  its  appearance  with  an  article  on  the  front  page 
which  began  as  follows: 

"We  understand  that  our  good  neighbors  in  Blueberry 
Coimty  are  being  ham-strung  by  certain  interests  which 
want  to  take  money  out  of  the  county  and  put  nothing 
back  in  the  shape  of  taxes.  It  is  said  that  underground 
political  forces  have  been  so  successful  in  their  black- 
guard activities  that  their  new  court  house,  badly  needed 
for  years,  and  road  improvements  are  halted  for  the  time 
being. 

''Our  people  may  congratulate  themselves  on  being 
free  from  selfish  and  reactionary  interests.  It  is  a  stain 
on  the  fair  name  of  any  community  to  have  the  presence 
of  such  leeches,  etc.'' 

Copies  of  this  journal  appeared  in  numbers.  Within 
twenty-four  hours  farmers  up  and  down  the  river  and  in 
the  far  corners  of  remote  townships  found  marked  copies 
of  the  paper  in  mail  boxes  and  did  not  need  rapidly 
rimning  rumors  to  establish  the  identity  of  the  "reac- 
tionary interests"  as  Foraker's  Folly.  Rumors  and 
grumbling  and  discontent  spread  quickly  and  when 
Helen  Foraker  drove  the  sand  roads  she  was  followed  by 
black  looks  and  talked  about  sourly  by  men  who  had 
hoped  to  profit  at  her  expense. 

Humphrey    Bryant    had    taken    advantage    of    an 

267 


268  TIMBER 

unexplained  loophole  in  the  law,  the  story  had  it,  to 
enable  Foraker^s  Folly  to  grow  rich  at  the  expense  of  the 
rest  of  the  county.  But  wait  —  wait!  was  the  word 
passed  by  the  supervisors,  who  had  said  little  and  looked 
wise,  for  Harris  again  had  them  in  hand. 

And  another  sly  story  crept  about:  That  young  John 
Taylor,  son  of  the  great  and  remembered  Luke,  was  no 
idle  son  of  a  rich  man.  He  had  been  at  work  for  weeks 
to  get  possession  of  the  Folly.  He  had  come  for  that 
purpose,  he  had  wormed  his  way  into  the  girl's  confidence 
and  had  then  come  into  the  open.  That  was  why  he 
was  living  in  Pancake,  boarding  with  the  widow  Holmquist 
and  awaiting  the  ripening  of  plans  that  would  mean  much 
to  the  town  and  the  county. 

When  men  came  to  Jim  Harris  for  confirmation  of  this 
story  he  shrugged  and  said  little;  but  he  said  enough 
and  his  eyes  carried  a  fine  twinkle  when  he  said  —  just 
enough. 

Milt  Goddard  heard  this  and  carried  it  to  Helen. 

"Rowe  is  making  his  cracks  that  Taylor  was  here  all 
the  time  like  a  —  a  spy, ''  he  said. 

She  turned  away  so  abruptly  that  the  gesture  was  more 
stinging  than  any  reply  she  might  have  made.  Goddard's 
hour  of  triumph  had  been  brief,  indeed.  He  had  dismayed 
John  Taylor,  but  it  had  gained  him  nothing  —  for  the 
present.  He  could  wait,  though;  he  could  wait.  He  told 
himself  that  as  the  flush  which  Helen's  wordless  rebuke 
had  caused  began  to  fade. 

Other  happenings:  For  instance,  Rowe  and  Harris 
drove  out  toward  Seven  Mile  Creek,  turned  off  before 
reaching  the  mill  and  followed  a  pair  of  dim  ruts  along 
the  edge  of  the  swamp  until  they  came  to  a  small  clearing 


TIMBER  269 

with  an  ancient  log  cabin  squatted  among  the  balsams. 
There  they  halted  and  Harris  sounded  his  horn  until  its 
hoarse  voice  startled  birds  in  the  forest. 

Inside  the  cabin,  a  stirring,  a  shuffling  step,  and  Charley- 
Stump  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"Hello,  Charley." 

''Hello,"  falteringly.    "Who  are  ye?" 

"It's  me,  Jim  Harris.  We  come  out  to  have  a  talk." 
He  chuckled.    "We  want  to  settle,  Charley!" 

The  old  man's  face  showed  indecision.  He  was  not  sure 
whether  to  be  flattered  or  frightened,  but  the  two  visitors 
entered  the  house  with  so  much  good  nature  that  he  was 
put  at  ease. 

The  three  sat  down  in  the  foul  smeUing  room  and  talked 
for  long,  quite  earnestly,  in  low  voices,  and  now  and  then 
Rowe  or  Harris  went  to  the  doorway  and  looked  out. 

Charley  stood  beside  the  car  when  Harris  started  the 
motor. 

"An'  when  it's  all  over  will  you  give  me  a  set  of  tires 
for  my  safety,  too,  Jim?" 

"Tires?    You  bet,  Charley!" 

Both  men  laughed. 

The  second  day  after  Rowe's  visit  to  her  house,  a  letter 
mailed  from  Pancake  came  to  Helen.   It  read: 

"You  will  do  well  to  clear  out  of  this  county.  We  have 
stood  for  your  ways  long  enough  and  do  not  want  you 
for  a  neighbor  at  any  price.  If  you  do  not  go  of  your  own 
will,  things  will  happen  which  will  make  you  clear  out 
anyhow. —  Citizens'  Committee. " 

With  an  impatient  exclamation  she  tore  the  sheet  in 
half,  but  arrested  the  gesture  to  throw  it  into  the  waste 


270  TIMBER 

basket,  smoothed  it  out,  and  later  that  day  carried  it 
to  the  office  of  the  Banner,  Humphrey  read  it  slowly; 
then  snorted: 

"Citizens*  Committee!  It's  not  hard  to  guess  where 
this  came  from!" 

He  paced  the  office  with  the  greatest  show  of  rage 
Helen  had  ever  seen  him  exhibit. 

"I'd  be  willing  to  bet  my  last  penny  that  Harris 
wrote  that  note  himself  and  that  Rowe  looked  over  his 
rascally  shoulder  while  he  did  it.  They're  thicker  than 
thieves!" 

"Could  we  prove  that?" 

"No.  Give  the  devil  his  due,  Helen,  they're  slicker 
than  eels!  This  is  blackmail  and  they'll  take  no  chances, 
just  as  they're  taking  no  chances  in  trying  to  ruin  me! 

"I've  haunted  the  court  house,  I've  tapped  every 
underground  wire  of  information  I  have,  but  they've  cut 
me  off.  Not  a  soul  knows  a  word  outside  the  rascals  who 
have  planned  it  and  the  rascals  who  are  going  to  execute 
their  orders.  They're  saving  this  thing  for  a  knockout 
blow  and  they're  taking  no  chances  of  spoiling  it  by  letting 
the  plan  leak.  By  keeping  quiet  they  have  everything 
to  gain  and  not  a  whisper  to  lose." 

Closeted  in  Jim  Harris'  room  in  the  Commercial  House 
that  night,  Jim  and  Phil  Rowe  and  the  Judge  of  Probate 
talked  in  half  tones  over  their  cigars. 

"If  there's  a  leak  we'll  spot  it,"  said  Harris.  "The 
three  of  us,  the  kid  and  the  sheriff  are  the  only  ones  who 
know,  except  Bryant  himself.  He  won't  squeak,  so  that 
if  anything  does  get  around  we'll  know  where  it  comes 
from. " 


TIMBER  271 

His  hand  on  the  table  clenched  and  his  eyes  showed 
no  humor  as  they  fixed  a  penetrating  gaze  on  the  nervous 
little  judge. 

"If  she  comes  off  all  right,  we'll  be  able  to  answer  the 
old  question  about  who  cracked  cock  robin,  an'  when 
I'm  through  with  him  he  can  squawk  as  loud  as  he  wants 
about  Chief  Pontiac's  valuation  and  they'll  laugh  him 
out  of  the  country.  I'm  afraid  of  no  robber  of  orphans!" 
He  mouthed  the  words  in  satisfaction. 

And  so  while  the  county  buzzed  with  hostility  against 
Helen  Foraker,  that  little  group  waited  for  the  hour 
when  Bryant,  her  only  support,  would  walk  from  the 
court  house  a  discredited  man,  for  they  knew,  as  well  as 
the  editor  himself  knew,  that  for  their  purposes  the  charge 
was  as  good  as  conviction. 

Humphrey  was  to  have  gone  to  Detroit  Monday  night 
to  find  an  investor  to  take  up  the  mortgage  which  Wilcox, 
the  new  cashier  of  the  Pancake  Bank,  had  informed 
Helen  by  mail  must  be  met  at  the  end  of  the  month,  when 
it  was  due.  But  the  serving  of  that  notice  to  appear  in 
court  Thursday  altered  all  plans. 

It  was  on  Tuesday  morning  that  John  Taylor  entered 
the  Banner  office  and  confronted  the  editor.  The  old 
man  looked  up  from  his  desk  with  a  searching  stare  instead 
of  his  usual  smile. 

"You've  heard,  of  course,  about  me,"  John  said  after 
a  brief  exchange. 

Humphrey  pushed  up  his  spectacles  and  nodded 
"Everything." 

"And  you  think  that  I'm—" 

He  did  not  finish.  The  other  examined  his  pencil  tip 
carefully;  then  looked  up  once  more. 


272  TIMBER 

"Helen  has  been  like  my  daughter  since  her  father  died. 
I  have  no  children  of  my  own.  I  have  no  kin.  I'm  a 
lonely  old  man  and  in  her  I've  found  an  outlet  for  all 
the  sentiment  that  old  men  have.  What  harms  her, 
harms  me.  In  rational  processes  I  might  differ  with  her, 
in  purely  natural  reactions  —  I  don't  care  to  discuss 
them." 

"You  believe,  then,  that — " 

"I  don't  want  to  be  unjust  or  hard,  Taylor,  but  in 
this  matter  you'll  have  to  excuse  me.  You  wouldn't  try 
to  argue  with  a  father  whose  impulses  and  sentiment  were 
strong,  would  you?" 

A  warning  flash  of  unreasonable  but  natural  temper 
was  in  his  face  and  John  went  out,  standing  a  long  time 
on  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  staring  across  the  street. 

He  had  gone  about  in  a  half  daze  since  leaving  the 
forest  yesterday.  He  felt  numb  and  heartless  and 
guilty  and  hurt.  His  mind  would  not  stay  on  his  affairs. 
He  tried  to  put  it  there  by  a  trip  to  the  mill  at  Seven 
Mile  the  next  day,  but  he  was  in  a  panic  for  fear  Helen 
would  come  and  he  would  be  forced  to  confront  her. 
He  was  glad  to  be  back  in  Pancake  that  night,  but  his 
room  in  Mrs.  Holmquist's  house,  where  he  had  sought 
refuge  from  Rowe  and  Harris,  was  stifling  so  he  walked 
down  First  Street  slowly  and  sought  an  isolated  chair 
on  the  hotel  verandah. 

The  night  was  sultry.  Preceding  nights  had  been  warm 
after  scorching  days.  Each  evening  clouds  gathered  and 
rain  was  promised,  but  no  rains  came.  Day  after  day 
the  brisk,  dry  wind  had  fanned  the  country,  browning 
the  brakes,  bleaching  ripening  June  grass,  wilting  the 
foliage  of  aspens. 


TIMBER  273 

John  saw  the  lights  go  out  in  the  office  of  the  Banner, 
saw  the  old  editor  come  outside  and  toil  up  the 
stairway  to  his  rooms  above.  The  light  came  on 
there  and  Humphrey  stood  in  his  living  room  and  took 
off  his  stiff  bosomed  shirt  and  stood  motionless  an  interval. 
Then  he  did  a  strange  thing.  He  drew  up  two  rockers 
to  the  window  for  all  the  world  as  though  he  expected  a 
visitor.  For  a  time  he  rocked,  then  he  rose  and  turned 
off  the  light  and  Taylor  imagined  he  sat  down  again 
beside  that  empty  chair  in  the  darkness. 

Lucius  came  along  the  street,  smoking  a  cigar  with  a 
deal  of  manner.  There  was  that  in  his  bearing  which 
indicated    stimulants. 

''Hello,  Mr.  Taylor!" 

"Hello,  Lucius." 

"Hot   night." 

"Yes.    Hot." 

Pause; 

Taylor  hoped  the  boy  would  go  on  but  he  mounted 
the  steps  and  dragged  up  a  chair,  propping  his  feet 
pompously  on  the  rail. 

"Hot  an'  dusty  an'  dead,"  he  said  ponderously.  "Pan- 
cake's as  —  as  flat  as  a  pancake!" 

His  silly  giggle  confirmed  the  suspicion  that  he  had  been 
drinking. 

"Well  she  won't  bother  me  much  more  b'  God.  It  may 
be  hotter  in  Detroit  but  it  ain't  so  dead,  I'll  tell  the  world. " 

"Going  to  Detroit,  are  you?" 

"I'll  say  I  am!  Just  as  soon  as  I  get  this  here,  now, 
case  off  my  mind  I'll  be  on  my  way."  He  wagged  his 
head  and  hitched  his  chair  even  closer  and  whispered. 
"You  know,  Taylor,  we  got  old  Hump  sunk." 


274  TIMBER 

"Sunk?'' 

"I'll  say  we  have!  Leave  it  to  Jim  —  Besides," 
brandishing  his  cigar,  "I  ain't  no  man  to  go  off  an  leave 
th'  kids  in  a  hole.  That  stuff  don't  go  down  y'  know, 
Taylor.  Business  's  business,  but  when  it's  stealin'  from 
orphans,  why  that  ain't  business." 

Taylor  sat  silent,  every  muscle  tensing,  letting  these 
ambling  suggestions  sink  in  —  Harris  —  Bryant  —  orphans 
—  this  case  — 

"Sure  not,"  he  said  watching  the  youth. 

"Course,  you  know  all  about  it,"  went  on  Lucius. 
"Rowe  says  you're  his  friend  an'  so  does  Jim.  Fine  feller, 
Jim.  He  give  this  advice  for  nothin'  an'  even  agrees 
to  slip  me  a  little  change  so's  I  can  go  to  Detroit  when 
it's  all  over. "  He  giggled.  "  An'  he  slips  me  a  little  now 
so  a  feller  can  enjoy  himself  in  a  town  as  flat  as  a  pancake. " 

Taylor  managed  to  hold  his  voice  steady. 

"You'll  be  pulling  stakes  soon,  then." 

"  Yup, "  lowering  his  voice.  "After  tomorr'  a.  m.  prob'ly. 
Y'see,  the  case  comes  up  at  ten  in  the  mornin'.  Jim  says 
that's  all  there'll  be  to  it,  just  have  th'  old  devil  appear 
in  court  an'  answer  my  complaint  that  he  ain't  done  right 
by  Bobby  an'  Bessy  when  he  lends  their  money  to  the 
Foraker  girl." 

He  rolled  the  cigar  in  his  lips  and  nodded  importantly. 

"Then  it'll  all  be  over  tomorrow?  That  will  end  it?  " 

"So  far's  I  give  a  damn  it  will.  It'll  ruin  Hump',  Jim 
says  an'  that's  all  we  want.  He  won't  be  hornin'  into 
other  folk's  business,  then — " 

Lucius  giggled.  "  Tha's  all.  I  don't  give  damn  about  th' 
kids.  I  don'  care  what  they  do  to  old  Bryant.  I'm  out  after 
th'  jack,  I  am!  So's  I  can  get  to  Detroit  an'  a  real  town." 


TIMBER  275 

He  nudged  John  with  his  elbow.  "I'm  from  Pancake, 
but  I'll  show  'em  a  step  or  two  when  I  land  there  with 
fifty   dollars!" 

"Fifty  dollars  is  a  lot  of  money,"  said  Taylor. 

"Not  a  cent  too  much!  I  told  Jim  it  wasn't  when  he 
offered  it  to  me  to  sign  th'  complaint  over  in  th'  judge's 
office.  It  won't  last  long,  but  then,  I  can  get  a  job  easy, 
I   can—" 

He  ambled  on  with  his  puerile  boasts  while  Taylor's 
mind  worked  hke  lightning. 

"Have  you  seen  Jim  tonight?"  he  asked,  to  bring  the 
boy  back  to  those  pregnant  facts. 

"Nope.  Don't  'tend  to,  neither.  He  give  me  five 
on  th'  promise  that  I  wouldn't  get  jingled  —  But,  hell, 
Pancake's  too  dead  for  a  sober  man.  Besides  I  ain't  told 
nobody  but  you  —  an'  you  know  it  already.  It's  all  fixed, 
anyhow.  We'll  have  old  Hump  sunk  an'  I'm  th'  com- 
plainin'  witness,  ain't  I?" 

He  sat  up  in  his  chair  and  swayed  to  peer  closely  into 
Taylor's   face. 

"Can't  do  nothin'  without  me,  can  they?  Can't  turn 
a  wheel,  can  they?  Huh!  Guess  I  got  a  right  to  get 
jingled  a  little  on  your  money!  I  ain't  any  damn  fool, 
Taylor.  I  know  what's  goin'  oh.  All  you  fellers  want  is  to 
get  Bryant  out  of  th'  way  so  you  can  razee  this  Foraker 
girl  back  into  th'  brush  an'  you  an'  Rowe  get  her  pine. " 
Spit.  Wipe  of  hand  across  an  uncouth  chin.  "B'  God  I 
ain't  so  damn  dumb!" 

No,  he  was  not  damned  dumb!  He  saw  through  Harris' 
scheme  and  his  words  brought  order  and  reason  to  Taylor. 

So  they  were  after  Bryant,  were  they?  They  were 
framing  him?  And  then,  with  him  out  of  the  way,  Helen 


276  TIMBER 

Foraker  would  be  at  the  mercy  of  Luke  Taylor!  This  was 
Jim  Harris'  plotting,  but  he  knew  that  Rowe's  hand  and 
mind  had  not  been  idle.    John  sat  up. 

"  Suppose, "  he  said,  ''that  the  case  should  be  postponed. 
Suppose  they  should  hold  you  here  a  long  time?  Wouldn't 
you  expect  more  than  your  fifty?" 

"  rU  tell  a  man  I  would.  But  they  won't.  The  probate 
judge's  fixed  an'  old  Bryant  can't  turn  a  wheel  to  save 
himself.  My  part's  done  in  ten  minutes  tomorra.  Tha's 
all.    Night  after  next  I'll  be  steppin'  out  among  'em!" 

In  the  poolroom  across  the  street  appeared  the  figure  of 
Jim  Harris,  walking  behind  the  tables,  looking  among  the 
loafers  in  the  far  end  of  the  room. 

"There's  Harris,"  said  Taylor. 

''Where?"  Lucius  started  sharply.  ''Say,  I  better 
shake  a  leg!  If  he  thought  I'd  been  drinkin' — " 

He  rose.  Harris  was  talking  to  the  proprietor  behind  his 
counter.   Taylor  got  to  his  feet. 

"  You'd  better  clear  out, "  he  said.  "He'll  see  you  sure. 
Here,  come  along!" 

Half  shoving  the  confused  boy  he  left  the  porch, 
whisked  around  the  corner  and  was  out  of  sight  when 
Harris,  scratching  his  head,  appeared  outside  the  pool- 
room and  scanned  the  deserted  street. 

"Close  shave!"  whispered  Taylor,  slapping  Lucius 
on  the  back.    "  But  we're  safe  now. " 

A  plan  was  forming  in  his  mind,  forming,  oh,  so  slowly! 
He  flattered  the  boy,  directed  a  stream  of  inane  banter 
into  his  ears  as  he  led  him  down  the  dark  street,  keeping 
his  tongue  wagging  while  his  mind  drove  along  in  search 
of  a  workable  scheme. 

"You  got  any  hooch  left?"  he  asked  finally. 


TIMBER  277 

He  could  see  Lucius  wink  heavily. 

^TUsay  Ihave.   Want  a  touch?" 

"You  know  it!" 

They  made  their  way  by  circuitous  route  to  the  rear 
of  the  livery  stable,  careful  not  to  show  themselves  to  Jim, 
who  still  stood  in  the  street,  watching  stray  passers. 
Lucius  entered  the  red  bam,  fumbled  under  the  cushions 
of  his  rattle-trap  car  and  brought  out  a  bottle. 

"Here  Jack,  ole  kid,  touch  her  off!" 

He  was  exceedingly  familiar  and  rested  an  arm  across 
Taylor's  shoulders  and  John  tasted  the  concoction.  That 
was  enough ;  one  taste.  Its  vile  strength  gave  him  assur- 
ance; liquor  like  that  fitted  well  with  his  maturing  plan. 
He  wiped  his  lips  and  passed  the  bottle  to  Lucius. 

"Drink  hearty!"  The  silhouette  before  him  tipped  the 
bottle  up  and  the  liquor  gurgled. 

They  went  out,  taking  the  whiskey,  and  wandered  to  the 
railroad  track  where  they  sat  on  a  pile  of  ties. 

"Don't  take  too  much,"  Taylor  warned.  "That's  stiff 
stuff." 

"Nev'  min'  me.  I  c'n  carry  m'  hooch!  Why,  Jack,  I 
ben  drinkin'  ev'  since  I  wus  so  high  —  here,  have  touch. " 

Again  John  tasted  and  held  the  bottle  in  his  hands  for 
a  long  interval  thereafter  while  he  talked,  humoring  the 
boy,  laughing  at  his  tawdry  boasting,  edging  the  talk 
further  away  from  Harris. 

In  the  distance  the  south-bound  night  train  whistled. 
The  Uttle  town  was  asleep  and  dark.  A  light  in  the  Com- 
mercial House  and  one  in  the  bank  made  the  only  relief 
in  the  close  night. 

"Lucius,  what  if  Harris  throws  you  down?  What  if  he 
gets  you  into  court  and  then  holds  out  on  you?" 


278  TIMBER 

''Think  he  would? '^  The  youth  seemed  sobered  for  the 
moment  by  the  prospect.  ''If  he  did,  I'd  get  him,  b'  God! 
Don'  give  damn  'bout  th'  case  —  all  I  wan'  's  a  crack  at 
Detroit. " 

"Let's  move  on." 

They  rose  and  went  toward  the  station.  They  were  the 
only  people  astir.  The  train  whistled  nearer  and  they 
could  hear  its  distant  rumble  when  the  uneasy  breeze  died. 

"Lucius,  let's  not  wait  for  Jim!  Let's  make  sure  of  this 
—  go  on  down  to  Detroit  tonight!" 

They  were  on  the  station  platform,  face  to  face,  and 
Taylor  took  the  boy's  arm  as  he  planted  this  suggestion. 

"You  'n'  me?  Sure—"  Then  he  shook  off  Taylor's 
hands  groggily.  "Sa-ay  what  you  wan'  me  to  go  tonigh' 
for?"  an  ugly  note  in  his  thick  voice. 

"For  company.  I'm  going  down  the  line  tonight.  It'll 
be  all  right.  I'll  tell  Jim  all  about  it.  You've  done  your 
share  and  if  they've  got  anything  on  Bryant  they  can  get 
along  without  you.  Besides  you're  not  sure  of  your  fifty 
yet,  and  I'll  buy  your  ticket. " 

Far  off  a  blue-white  glare  in  the  sky  told  that  the  train 
was  swinging  around  the  big  bend,  rushing  down  on 
Pancake,  which  was  not  a  schedule  stop. 

"You  'n'  me?  Lucius  an'  Jack." 

"I'll  promise  you  a  job  if  you  go  —  tonight. " 

"Tha'  righ'?  Gimme  a  job?  Say,  Jack,  you're  all  to 
the  candy  —  you  — " 

He  said  more  but  Taylor  did  not  hear.  He  drew  a 
folded  newspaper  from  his  pocket  and  struck  a  match. 
The  train  was  very  near,  the  ray  of  its  headlight  swinging 
in  towards  them,  throwing  buildings  into  sharp  relief. 
He  held  the  match  to  the  paper.    The  torch  flared  and 


TIMBER  279 

he  waved  it.  The  locomotive  whistle  barked  twice  and 
fire  streamed  from  the  brake  shoes  — 

In  the  cindery  seat  of  the  smoker  Lucius  settled  himself 
with  a  satisfied  grin.  He  fimibled  in  his  coat  for  the  bottle, 
drained  it  with  no  offer  of  hospitality  and  then,  tossing 
it  into  the  night,  pillowed  his  head  on  the  window  sill  and, 
passed  into  oblivion. 

"One  to  Peerless  and  one  to  Detroit,"  said  Taylor  to 
the  conductor. 

Peerless  was  the  first  stop. 

Dirty,  uncomfortable  men  slept  or  smoked  stupidly 
in  the  car.  None  paid  attention  to  Taylor.  He  joggled 
Lucius,  drew  his  head  up  from  the  sill  and  it  fell  against  the 
seat-back,  but  the  boy  gave  no  indication  of  awakening. 

Quickly  John  searched  the  other's  pockets,  taking  every 
penny  of  change  except  a  lone  dime.  Then  he  took  an 
envelope  from  his  own  pocket  and  wrote  on  it : 

"Go  to  Mr.  Richard  Mason,  Mason  Auto  Wheel 
Company.  Tell  him  who  your  are  and  that  John  Taylor 
sent  you.   He  will  take  care  of  you  and  give  you  a  job.'' 

This  he  thrust  into  the  boy's  pocket  and  sat  back, 
lighting  a  cigarette  with  unsteady  hands. 

The  brakeman  came  out  of  the  smoky  vestibule. 

"Next  stop  Peerless!  —  Peerless — " 

Taylor  lurched  down  the  rocking  aisle. 

"Listen,  Charley,"  taking  the  trainman  by  the  arm. 
"My  drunken  friend  has  just  street  car  fare.  The  address 
he  is  going  to  is  in  a  note  in  his  pants'  pocket.  Tell  him 
about  it,  and  keep  this  for  yourself. " 

He  shoved  a  bill  into  the  other's  hand  and  went  down 
the  car  steps. 

"All  right,  boss,  good-night." 


280  TIMBER 

The  man  smiled  and  waved  a  farewell  as  the  locomotive 
snorted  to  be  under  way  again. 

Peerless,  too,  was  asleep  but  not  so  soundly  as  Pancake. 
There  were  a  half  dozen  street  lights  and  one  upstairs 
window  of  a  business  block  showed  life.  The  metal  sign 
of  a  telephone  company  reflected  the  glow  within. 

John  knocked  and  parleyed  with  a  feminine  voice  on 
the  other  side.  For  some  time  entrance  was  refused, 
but  finally  a  frightened  little  girl  plucked  aside  the  shade, 
peered  out  and  with  misgivings  allowed  him  to  enter. 

For  three  hours  he  sat  beside  her  switchboard  while 
she  worked  to  rouse  rural  operators  and  get  a  wire  into 
Detroit.  He  did  not  let  her  rest  and  was  rewarded  finally 
by  a  sleepy  voice  in  his  ear. 

''Hello,  John;  what  the  devil's  up?" 

''You're  up  —  and  I'm  up  —  Listen,  Dick,  I'm  sending 
a  man  down  for  a  job. " 

"Don't  need  any  men;  turning  'em  off  every  day." 

"Makes  no  difference  —  His  name  is  Kildare,  Lucius 
Kildare,  and  he's  on  the  way  down  with  just  enough  money 
to  get  his  hangover  and  appetite  to  your  plant. 

"Give  him  a  job  and  keep  money  away  from  him  —  Yes 
—  Ball  and  chain,  if  necessary  —  A  job  at  your  house 
would  be  fine!" 

"What's  the  game?" 

"A  big  one.  Do  as  I  say  because  it's  more  important 
than  anything  I've  ever  asked  of  you  before.  If  you  let 
this  kid  get  back  into  this  country  in  a  month  I'll  never 
ask  another  favor  of  you  as  long  as  I  live!" 

A  laugh  came  over  the  wire. 

"If  it's  that  serious  I'll  put  him  up  at  the  club!  Or  how 
about  a  straight  jacket?" 


TIMBER  281 

"Good  idea  and  night.  Go  back  to  bed.  Many  thanks, 
until  I  can  explain." 

He  walked  out  of  the  telephone  exchange  unmindful 
of  the  wondering  stare  of  the  operator.  He  strolled  to  the 
small  station  and  sat  down  on  a  baggage  truck  to  smoke 
and  wait  for  a  north-bound  morning  train.  The  cigarette 
glowed  idly  and  the  coal  shrank  into  its  shell  of  ash.  He 
leaned  his  head  back  against  the  wall  of  the  building  and 
fixed  his  eyes  on  a  faint  star,  low  in  the  north. 

He  reflected. 

This  was  the  thing  he  could  do.  He  could  fight  his 
father,  Phil  Rowe,  Jim  Harris;  all  these  other  men  and 
influences  that  were  aligned  against  Helen  Foraker.  He 
could  put  his  best  into  that  fight  and  make  a  courageous 
attempt  to  drive  away  the  menace  he  had  brought  upon 
her.  He  owed  her  that;  he  would  square  his  account. 

He  felt  just  the  least  bit  heroic  as  he  planned  that  fight 
and  a  tinge  of  bitterness  crept  into  his  attitude  toward  the 
girl.  She  had  professed  to  give  him  her  love,  but  when 
the  crisis  came  the  forest  was  uppermost  in  her  mind. 
Her  life,  she  had  said  it  was,  and  perhaps  that  had  been 
truth  because  she  had  shown  no  willingness  to  give  him 
the  benefit  of  the  doubt  —  after  she  had  given  him  her 
caresses.  Her  ready  defiance  which  he  had  once  thought 
splendid  seemed  a  weakness,  now. 

And  yet  before  the  north-bound  train  stopped  for  him 
he  became  cold  and  lonely  and  was  prompted  to  go  to  her 
and  plead  his  case.  But  he  could  not  do  that,  he  told  him- 
self. He  had  been  wrong,  he  had  dodged  and  twisted  and 
failed  to  meet  the  issue,  when  it  concerned  this  girl  who 
never  dodged !  He  was  small,  small  beside  her,  and  her  con- 
sequence seemed  even  greater  as  he  pictured  her,  backed 


282  TIMBER 

in  a  comer,  fighting  these  powerful  forces  which  sought  to 
overwhehn  her. 

Until  midnight  Helen  had  been  out  with  Goddard  and 
Black  Joe  watching  a  ground  fire  run  itself  into  a  wet 
marsh.  She  undressed  very  slowly  and  sat  on  the  edge 
of  her  bed.  Watch  Pine  whispered  restlessly  above  her 
house  this  night  and  struck  a  responsive  chord  in  her 
heart.  Until  now  she  had  thought  of  John  Taylor  only 
with  anger.  He  had  come  to  her,  she  had  helped  him, 
she  had  loved  him,  only  to  have  him  strike  at  the  vital 
thing  for  which  she  lived  and  worked.  But  tonight  her 
weariness  could  rally  no  resentment  and  her  thoughts 
persisted  in  straying  back  to  sweet  moments.  When  he 
had  fished  with  her  at  evening,  when  he  had  been  beside 
her  desk  at  night  learning  the  things  she  had  to  teach; 
when  he  had  talked  of  his  father;  when  he  had  pledged  his 
allegiance  —  and  when  his  lips  had  first  touched  hers. 
Now,  there  was  no  wrath  to  think  that  he  had  come  so 
close  to  her  heart,  but  only  a  sense  of  emptiness,  loneliness. 
Was  her  forest  all  that  mattered?  she  asked  herself. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

It  was  an  agitated  little  county  official  who  sat  in  the 
office  of  the  judge  of  probate  of  Blueberry  County  and 
whispered  into  a  telephone. 

"I  tell  you,  Jim,  there  ain't  nothin'  I  can  do  if  the 
complainin'  witness  don't  show  up.  No  —  no  —  I  can't  — 
I'm  helpless.  Can't  you  come  down  and  talk  it  over?" 
glancing  at  the  clock.  *'It's  only  nine-thirty;  we  got  a 
half  hour." 

*^No,  I  can't  come.  This  thing  looks  like  a  fliv,  and  if 
it  does,  the  less  anybody  knows  about  it,  includin'  J.  H., 
the  better."  A  grit  came  into  his  lowered  voice.  "And 
if  —  get  out,  Central !  —  any  stories  get  around  we'll 
know  damned  well  where  they  come  from. " 

''But,  Jim,  what  can  I  do?" . 

"Stall,  you  poor  simp!  Stall  and  give  us  a  chance  to 
dig  up  our  party!" 

At  ten  o'clock  Humphrey  Bryant  entered  the  court 
room,  trying  to  keep  the  droop  from  his  shoulders. 

"Say,  Hump,  I  made  a  mistake  in  th'  time;  Come  back 
at  eleven,  will  you?"  the  judge  asked. 

And  at  eleven  the  editor  was  there  —  and  waited  until 
twelve  and  the  judge  made  excuses  and  went  out  and 
darted  into  the  Commercial  House  and  inquired  frantically 
for  Harris. 

"He  said,"  said  Henry,  coughing  into  his  pallid  cigar, 
"he  said  if  you  called  that  he  couldn't  keep  his  engagement 
this  momin'.  He  said  you'd  understand." 

283 


284  TIMBER 

Ten  minutes  later  Humphrey  Bryant  walked  back  to 
the  Banner  office.  It  required  no  effort,  now,  to  keep  the 
droop  from  his  shoulders! 

It  was  evening  before  Jim  Harris  returned  to  Pancake. 
He  was  bland  and  good-natured  so  far  as  a  casual  observer 
might  have  known,  but  rage  seethed  in  his  breast.  He 
entered  Rowe's  room  and  flung  off  his  vest  irritably. 

"Damned  if  things  don't  pinch  out!"  he  grumbled. 
"IMVe  sworn  that  kid  would  stay  put." 

"No  word  of  him?" 

"Not  a  whisper.  He  may  be  dead  for  all  I  know.  I 
didn't  dare  raise  a  stink  for  fear  — " 

His  gray  eyes  flickered  with  baffled  rage. 

Rowe  paced  the  room. 

"That's  one  hold  on  her  that  slipped, "  he  said.  "We've 
got  to  get  busy,  Harris.  The  old  man  won't  wait  all 
summer,  and  young  John — " 

He  stopped  shortly.   ^'Say,  you  don't  suppose  — " 

Harris  looked  up. 

"Dah!  Hell,  no!  — Huh?— "  he  seemed  startled,  but 
relaxed  and  shook  his  head  again.  "I  guess  not,  Rowe. 
He's  quick  in  the  head,  but  I  don't  think  — " 

He  did  not  say  what  he  thought.  His  glowering  look 
went  out  the  window  to  the  office  of  the  Banner  and  rested 
there  blackly.  In  the  rooms  above  Humphrey  Bryant  was 
packing  his  bag.  Tonight  he  could  take  up  Helen's  fight 
again! 

It  was  after  supper  at  the  Commercial  House .  Harris  and 
Rowe  were  on  the  porch  smoking,  conversing  in  casual  tones, 
trying  not  to  appear  confidential  when  John  Taylor 
came  down  the  street.   His  face  was  drawn  and  pinched. 


TIMBER  285 

"Hello  Taylor, "  said  Harris  as  he  came  up  the  steps.  Jim 
had  never  ceased  to  be  genial  with  this  particular  enemy. 
** How's  tricks?    Understand  your  cut's  about  finished." 

*'  Yes,  two  or  three  days  more. " 

''You'll  be  puUing  out,  then?'' 

Taylor  stopped  beside  him;  there  was  something  in  his 
gaze,  a  direct,  penetrating  quality  which  caused  Harris' 
eyes  to  narrow  ever  so  slightly  when  John  left  off  scrutiniz- 
ing him  and  looked  hard  at  Rowe. 

"  I  don't  expect  to  leave  right  away, "  he  said.  **  Fact  is, 
I  intend  to  stay  right  here  until  another  matter  is  cleaned 
up  —  as  one  of  the  preliminary  steps  I  want  to  turn 
so  ie  of  your  money  back  to  you. " 

"My  money?"   Harris  asked. 

"Yes,  this."  Taylor  took  a  bill  and  some  coins  from  his 
pocket  and  counted  deliberately.  "A  dollar  and  sixty- 
eight  cents;   that's  right." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  Harris  who  made  no  move  to 
accept  it. 

"What's  the  idea,  Taylor?  You  don't  owe  me  a  nickel. " 

"I'm  beginning  to  think  that  I  owe  you  a  great  deal  — 
you  and  Phil  Rowe,"  Taylor  replied.  "This,  though, 
is  not  on  our  accoimt.  This  is  the  money  turned  back  to 
you  from  young  Kildare.  I  took  it  from  him  when  he 
was  leaving  town  last  night,  to  escape  charges  of  conspiracy 
and  perjury  —  This  will  make  fifty-one  dollars  and  sixty- 
eight  cents  that  you  have  saved  on  this  little  flier,  Harris  — 
Take  it,  you  rat!" 

His  words  bit  savagely  as  he  took  that  one  quick  step 
which  brought  him  close  to  Harris.  The  man  reached  out, 
almost  involuntarily,  for  the  change.  It  cUnked  in  his 
palm. 


286  TIMBER 

Taylor  stood  a  moment,  looking  down  upon  them. 

*'Now/'  he  said,  ''maybe  we  understand  each  other  a 
little  better.  I  said,  Rowe,  that  I  was  going  to  fight  you. 
This  is  the  beginning!" 

He  turned  and  walked  quickly  away. 

"Well  I'll  go  to  hell!"   muttered  Phil  Rowe. 

"And  I'll  keep  you  company,"  whispered  Harris 
huskily. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

During  those  hot  June  days  no  cloud  obscured  the 
sun,  but  its  light  came  hampered  to  the  parched  barrens 
through  strata  of  smoke  from  many  fires.  Far  and  near 
the  country  was  patched  with  blaze;  flames  running 
through  brush  and  dry  grass,  hot  and  greedy  for  an  hour, 
to  be  baffled  by  some  sandy  road  which  it  could  not  leap, 
or  a  lake  or  marsh  which  balked  it;  other  fires,  in  the 
depths  of  swamp,  smouldered  for  days,  sending  up  vast 
quantities  of  dense  smoke;  hot  blazes  in  slashings  licked 
up  logging  litter  and  reduced  the  soil  itself  to  ash  by  the 
fierce  heat. 

The  supervisors,  who  are  local  fire  officers,  met  the 
situation  with  all  the  variability  of  mankind.  '*Let  her 
burn,"  said  some.  ''It'll  make  it  easier  to  clear,"  while 
others  slaved  at  the  deadening  drudgery  of  checking  fires 
in  cut-over  land. 

The  district  warden,  red  of  eyes,  skin  grimed  by  smoke, 
voice  hoarse  from  days  in  it,  covered  his  counties  in 
frantic  drives  to  touch  the  worst  spots  and  keep  his 
deputies  at  the  grind. 

Fire!  At  once  man's  best  servant  and  worst  enemy! 
Ah,  you  city  dwellers,  who  explain  so  casually  the  faint 
pall  that  drifts  on  roaming  winds  as  smoke  from  burning 
forests!  It  is  remote,  it  does  not  touch  you;  you  know 
none  of  the  terror  men  know  who  watch  its  crimson  ring 
close  on  their  forests,  their  homes,  their  future,  their  very 
lives! 

287 


288  TIMBER 

Within  the  boundaries  of  Foraker^s  Folly  was  efficient 
preparedness.  In  the  open  shed  where  Helen's  car  stood, 
hung  a  rack  of  brass  fire  extinguishers,  with  drums  of 
soda  and  tight  cans  of  water.  It  could  be  lowered  in  a 
moment  to  the  body  of  the  car  and  clamped  firmly  there 
to  be  hastened  to  any  point  in  the  forest.  This  was  a 
recently  adopted  idea,  suggested  by  New  England 
methods.  At  a  half-dozen  points  through  her  property 
small  sheds  housed  two-wheeled  carts  laden  with  similar 
apparatus,  and  shovels  and  axes.  Also,  three  telephones 
were  placed  in  strategic  points  so  word  of  danger  might 
be  sent  to  the  house  without  delay  for  there  is  but  one 
way  to  control  forest  fire:  Get  there  quick!  As  Black 
Joe  sagely  instructed  the  new  patrolmen,  '  'Get  that  when 
you  c'n  spit  her  out!" 

All  day  long  a  look-out  swung  in  the  top  of  Watch  Pine, 
but  when  the  smoke  was  dense  that  vigilance  was  not 
enough  and  from  three  to  a  dozen  men  patroled  the  outer 
fire  lines.  Some  of  these  rode  horses  which  were  harnessed 
and  ready  to  be  galloped  to  one  of  the  equipment  stations 
and  drag  the  apparatus  to  action. 

It  was  racking  work.  With  evening  came  relief,  because 
fire  in  the  open  loses  its  vigor  with  dusk;  but  each  night 
which  brought  no  rain  only  promised  increased  tension 
for  the  morrow  and  Helen  Foraker  felt  her  nerves  stretch- 
ing taut.  The  smoke  cloud  was  enough  to  think  about, 
let  alone  that  other  cloud  which  hung  over  her  —  or  the 
emptiness  in  her  heart! 

There  was  emptiness  there,  and  it  grew  with  the  days 
and  this  afternoon  as  she  felt  herself  rocked  gently  by  the 
wind  —  for  she  was  on  lookout  herself  —  the  girl  stared 
out  across  the  forest  that  had  been  her  whole  life  and  was 


TIMBER  289 

struck  by  its  inadequacy.  There  was  something  lacking, 
something  vital  had  gone,  and  its  passing  dated  to  the 
hour  of  John  Taylor's  departure. 

She  had  known  too  httle  sympathy,  had  had  too  little 
support  in  those  years  she  had  been  forced  to  fight  with 
men  Uke  Sim  Burns,  she  had  put  up  with  ridicule  and 
feeble  attempts  at  double  dealing  and  with  the  burden  of 
her  work,  but  she  had  always  met  them  with  a  stout 
fighting  spirit.  They  had  stirred  her  temper  and  left  her 
heart  imtouched,  but  now  she  seemed  only  to  be  making 
fighting  gestures,  with  no  spirit  behind  them. 

Bobby  Kildare  appeared  below  and  called  in  his  high 
treble  that  he  wanted  to  come  up.  Bobby  always  wanted 
to  come  up!  He  begged  throughout  the  summer  to  be  in 
the  crow's  nest  and,  taken  there,  begged  to  be  left  alone 
with  the  responsibility  of  watching  for  smoke. 

''All  right;  come  slowly,  Bobby,"  she  warned  and, 
eager  hands  and  feet  and  eyes  all  alert,  he  came  up  the 
ladder,  held  to  slow  progress  only  by  her  repeated  caution. 

"There!"  he  sighed  as  he  set  foot  on  the  platform  and 
Helen  dropped  the  trap  closed.   "There,  I  am!" 

His  face  was  very  bright,  lips  parted  eagerly  as  he 
took  the  field  glass  and  stared  to  south  and  west. 

"No  fires  in  sight, "  he  said.  "Huh!"  and  looked  at  her 
and  shifted  his  feet  and  Helen  laughed  at  his  enthusiastic 
happiness. 

"No  fires  near,  Bobby  —  where  were  you  this  mom- 
ing?" 

"To  the  —  at  the  mill,  playin'  with  the  Injun  boys  and 
Henny  Raymer. 

"Aunt  Helen,  are  you  going  away?'' 

"Away?    No.    Why?" 


290  TIMBER 

"Oh,  Henny  said  his  father  told  his  mother  that  you 
were  going  away.  He  said  it  was  a  party. " 

"Party?" 

"Well,  Henry  said  youM  been  invited  to  go  away  by 
the  voters  —  who  is  voters,  Aunt  Helen?  " 

She  answered  him  absently  and  took  the  glass  to 
stare  with  unseeing  eyes  out  across  the  smoke-screened 
land. 

That  first  warning  from  the  anonymous  Citizens' 
Committee  had  come  on  Tuesday.  Wednesday  brought 
another  which  she  had  not  opened  at  once  because  she 
received  it  with  other  mail  at  the  mill  just  as  the  saw 
struck  a  railroad  spike  buried  in  a  log  and  scattered  in 
ringing  bits. 

Raymer  had  scratched  his  head  and  looked  at  her  with 
startled,  owlish  eyes. 

''Somebody  done  that,"  he  said  dully.  "An'  this 
mornin'  th'  weights  had  been  taken  out  of  th'  idler  box 
an'  she  wouldn't  saw.   We  lost  two  hours. " 

Later,  as  she  read  the  curt  warning,  she  saw  connection. 

Today  was  Thursday  and  the  relief  which  had  followed 
the  call  from  Humphrey  Bryant,  telling  her  that  the  case 
against  him  in  probate  court  had  been  dropped  for  lack 
of  witnesses,  was  dissipated  by  the  arrival  of  another 
warning. 

She  saw  again  Phil  Rowe's  ruthless  smile;  heard  again 
his  oblique  threats. 

Goddard  came  in  that  evening. 

"What's  the  weather  report?"  he  asked,  eyeing  her 
steadily,  as  though  his  mind  were  not  on  his  question  or 
the  fire  menace. 

"Continued  fair, "  she  answered  and  did  not  look  up. 


TIMBER  291 

She  was  strangely  uneasy  with  Goddard  now,  a  new 
reaction  to  him,  born  with  the  events  of  Monday  morning 
when  he  had  confronted  Taylor  with  his  charge. 

"Saw  Sim  Burns  today."  He  fussed  with  his  hat  as 
though  reluctant  to  go  on,  but  Helen  said,  "Yes?"  and 
he  proceeded:  "He  says  he's  got  some  cedar  he's  sold 
to  Chief  Pontiac.  Wants  to  drive  it  down  and  says  he'll 
serve  notice  on  you  to  open  the  boom  at  Seven  Mile 
unless  you  do  it  yourself." 

"How  much  cedar  has  he?" 

"I  don't  know.  They  got  out  some  posts  last  winter. 
I  recollect  some  poles,  too,  but  there  couldn't  be  over  a 
carload. " 

"We  can  put  it  over  the  boom  for  him  cheaper  than 
we  can  tear  it  out." 

"Yeah.  I  said  that,  but  he  wouldn't  listen.  Wants 
the  river  open." 

The  girl  tapped  her  desk  with  a  pencil. 

"So  that's  another  item,  is  it?" 

"Looks  that  way.  He's  doin'  it  to  make  trouble.  The 
county's  pretty  well  stirred  up,  Helen,"  looking  at  her 
closely.    "They're  talking  nasty!" 

"Talk  is  easy  to  stand." 

"But  there's  more  than  talk.  Those  warnings  you  get; 
what's  happened  at  the  mill  —  I  tell  you,  Helen,  they're 
too  many  for  you." 

"You'd  have  me  quit?" 

His  eyes  shifted. 

"I  don't  want  to  see  you  —  broken."  His  eyes  raised 
again  to  her  face,  dog-like,  and  she  knew  the  plea  that 
was  in  them,  the  plea  which  she  had  forbidden  him  to 
speak.    "You  won't  listen  to  me,"  he  said  heavily,  "an* 


292  TIMBER 

I  was  right  once,  wasn't  I?  Wasn't  I  right  —  about 
Taylor?" 

"Yes"  she  said.  "Yes,  you  were  right,"  in  a  tone 
suddenly  thin,  and  which  rose  alarmingly  in  pitch. 

Helen  dreamed  as  she  slept  that  night.  Taylor  came  to 
her  and  said  as  he  had  said  one  other  time,  using  the  words 
of  Bobby:  "And  if  I  try  hard  to  learn  all  that  you  will 
teach  me  —  when  I  know  as  much  as  you,  will  you  marry 
me?" 

He  seemed  to  be  standing  very  close  to  her.  He  held 
out  his  arms  and,  staring  into  his  face,  trying  to  rebell, 
her  feet  had  carried  her  forward.  He  had  smiled  as  his 
arms  closed  about  her,  imprisoning  her,  her  forest,  her 
life,  making  her  helpless —  Then  his  lips  had  lowered  to 
hers  and  as  their  mouths  touched  her  heart  raced,  her 
cheeks  took  fire,  and  in  her  ears  was  a  strange  ringing, 
ringing  —  a  ringing  which  grew  louder  and  more  insistent. 

She  found  herself  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  bewildered 
by  a  glow  in  the  sky  and  by  the  sound  of  the  insistent 
telephone  bell.  She  ran  barefooted  down  the  stairs  to 
lift  the  receiver. 

"This  is  Raymer,"  a  voice  said.  "A  deck  of  logs  is  on 
fire  and  the  others  are  in  danger. " 

"Is  your  pump  working?"  faculties  clearing. 

"The  hose  had  been  cut.   We  need  help!" 

"Coming!" 

She  called  to  Goddard  out  the  door,  dressed  and  flew 
to  the  garage  where  men  were  clamping  the  platform  of 
fire  extinguishers  on  the  body  of  the  car.  They  raced 
through  the  night,  with  the  stain  of  fire  growing  brilliant 
before  them  and  came  out  at  Seven  Mile  to  see  the  mill 
in  sharp  silhouette  and  flames  leaping  high  from  one  bank 


TIMBER  293 

of  her  pine  logs,  the  next  one  to  it  smoking  threateningly. 

The  chemicals  went  into  play  and  the  fire  was  held  to 
the  one  place,  but  it  was  daylight  before  buckets,  used 
when  the  worst  heat  was  over,  could  drench  out  the  last 
embers. 

The  hose,  which  was  on  its  reel  in  the  mill,  had  been 
carefully  cut  in  a  half  dozen  places. 

That  day  came  another  warning : 

"What  happened  last  night  is  only  a  start.  Unless  you 
make  a  move  to  clear  out,  we  will  show  you  what  real 
vengeance  is. —  Citizens^  Committee." 

It  had  been  mailed  twenty-four  hours  before  the  fire 
broke  out. 

That  noon  John  Taylor,  walking  between  two  of  his 
lumber  piles  at  Seven  Mile  siding,  stopped  shortly  and 
then  squatted  and  eyed  the  ground,  touching  it  here  and 
there  lightly.  Some  one  had  been  sitting  there  and  moving 
his  feet  restlessly  —  not  many  hours  ago,  either.  And  in 
the  sand  was  another  mark,  perhaps  like  that  made  by  a 
bicycle  — 

John  walked  back  along  the  edge  of  the  swamp  later. 
The  road  was  little  used  and  grass  grew  rank  in  it. 
But  here  and  there  where  the  ruts  ran  through  black 
muck  the  imprint  of  an  automobile  tire  was  set  in  perfect 
pattern.  The  car  had  stopped  at  Charley  Stump's  cabin 
and  turned  about  there.  He  returned  to  Pancake  on 
the  afternoon  freight  and  before  going  to  his  room  at 
Mrs.  Holmquist's  he  stopped  a  moment  before  the  Com- 
mercial House  and  eyed  the  tires  on  Jim  Harris'  automobile. 

It  may  be  recorded  here  that  the  next  evening  the 
Widow  Holmquist  was  talking  with  her  neighbor  as  she 
watered  her  garden. 


294  TIMBER 

"Yah,  he  ees  a  funny  man/'  she  said.  "He  ben  out  all 
hours  of  de  night.  Nefer  see  nodding  Hke  it,  an'  yust  to 
tank  that  he'd  bring  that  old  Charley  Stump  to  my  house 
yust  to  give  him  a  cigar  an'  set  mit  him  in  my  house! 
Yim  Harris,  he  was  askin'  me  about  him  today,  too. 
Dere's  somethin'  funny!" 

That  night  Jim  Harris,  Phil  Rowe  and  Wes  Hubbard 
sat  in  Rowe's  room.  Harris  was  writing  with  a  pencil 
laboriously,  disguising  his  hand.  He  chuckled  and  then, 
as  he  finished,  muttered:  "Signed,  Citizens'  Committee!" 

The  others  smiled.  They  did  not  see  the  face  which  had 
peered  at  them  over  the  transom  lower  nor  hear  the  man 
move  stealthily  away  down  the  hall,  carrying  the  chair 
on  which  he  had  stood. 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

The  house  f)arty  at  Windigo  Lodge  was  breaking  up 
Friday.  Dick  Mason  himself  had  been  gone  a  week,  but 
his  guests  Ungered  on.  Those  who  had  stayed  were  now 
bound  for  other  retreats:  the  St.  Clair  Flats,  the  Hutqa 
shore.  Lake  Michigan  resorts,  Canada  and  a  variety  of 
places.  But  Marcia  Murray  had  no  place  to  go.  She  had 
hung  on  at  Windigo  because  leaving  meant  a  return  to 
the  none-too-comfortable  apartment  in  Detroit,  with  her 
summer  broken  only  when  invitatipns  called  her  out  of 
town. 

She  had  let  drop,  a  detail  at  a  time,  the  change  that  had 
taken  place  in  John  Taylor;  not  the  change  in  his  attitude 
toward  her,  but  his  new  idealism,  his  new  interest,  which 
was  foreign  to  the  understanding  of  those  who  knew  him. 
They  listened,  incredulous  at  first,  but  Marcia,  keyed  to 
save  her  face,  was  sharply  clever  and  her  suggestions  had 
the  intended  effect. 

^*0f  course,  that's  all  very  fine."  Fan  Huston  had 
commented,  "but,  my  dear,  what  has  he  to  offer  you?" 

"Everything,"  said  Marcia  and  smiled  lightly. 

" Everything!  Why,  he  has  nothing,  unless  his  father — " 

"He  offers  everything  he  Aos,"  Marcia  corrected,  "and 
that  of  course,  is  very  splendid,  but  —  quite  intangible. " 

She  forced  a  fresh  gaiety,  her  eyes  seemed  brighter,  her 
laugh  more  ready  and  on  occasion  she  put  forth  a  stressed 
mockery  which  gave  them  to  understand  that  it  was 

295 


296  TIMBER 

John  Taylor  who  was  now  being  kept  impatiently  waiting. 
So  much,  to  preserve  her  standing. 

Phil  Rowe  telephoned  daily.  He  had  come  once  for  an 
afternoon  and  the  visit  had  caused  the  lifting  of  eyebrows 
and  a  deal  of  whispering,  but  Marcia  had  been  cryptic  in 
response  to  attempts  to  draw  her  out  and  they  learned 
little.  But  to  Phil  Rowe  she  gave  her  Kps  again  and 
laughed  close  in  his  face,  with  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

Rowe  was  as  keen  and  ruthless  in  love  as  he  was  in 
business.  He  wanted  this  girl  with  all  the  intensity  of  a 
selfish  heart;  he  saw  through  her,  knew  that  she  would  go 
to  any  one  of  a  score  of  men  who  might  bid  the  highest, 
knew  that  she  had  favored  John  Taylor  above  himself. 
But  there  were  two  things  in  life  he  wanted:  control  of 
the  Taylor  millions  and  possession  of  Marcia  Murray. 
The  latter  was  dependent  on  the  first  and  he  was  bound 
to  have  them  both. 

He  learned  soon  that  John  Taylor  had  slipped  through 
her  wily  fingers  and  knew,  therefore,  that  her  one  hope 
of  marrying  the  Taylor  fortune  was  in  marrying  him. 
Marcia  was  not  wholly  aware  of  this  factor.  For  a  time 
she  believed  she  had  succeeded  in  making  Rowe  think 
that  John  still  regarded  her  as  his  promised  wife  and  she 
held  to  this  lie  while  she  told  herself  again  and  again  that 
Taylor  was  a  fool  and  that  she  was  well  rid  of  him. 

But  there  were  nights  when  she  lay  sleepless  and  miser- 
able and  even  desperate.  Give  her  credit  for  this :  beneath 
her  exterior,  which  was  as  hard  and  cold  as  glass,  there 
was  a  sense  of  human  values  and  when  she  saw  that 
her  appeal  had  not  been  able  to  compete  with  the  whole- 
some womanhood  of  the  girl  of  the  fore^,  she  had  her 
periods  of   heartache  and    tears.    And  something  else 


TIMBER  297 

which  was  now  and  again  ahnost  regret  that  John  Taylor, 
changed,  poor,  without  the  ambition  she  demanded  of 
men,  was  no  longer  bound  to  her. 

She  was  to  drive  back  to  Detroit  and  was  taking  Fan 
and  Tom  Huston  with  her.  She  wanted  one  more  hour 
with  Rowe  and  so,  before  leaving,  she  indicated  that  they 
must  start  early  to  provide  for  a  few  hours  in  Pancake 
where  she  could  have  some  work  done  on  her  car.  They 
could  make  Saginaw  by  night  and  finish  the  trip  the  next 
day.  Fortimately  for  Marcia,  misfortune  in  the  shape 
of  a  severe  headache  visited  Fan  Huston  and  as  soon  as 
they  reached  Pancake  she  took  to  a  lumpy  bed  in  the 
Commercial  House  while  Tom  engaged  in  a  Kelly  pool 
game  with  three  drummers. 

Marcia  inquired  for  Rowe  and  learned  that  he  was  out 
of  town  but  would  be  back  before  noon.  She  bought  a 
magazine  and  settled  herself  in  the  parlor  of  the  hotel  to 
await  impatiently  his  coming.  Her  eyes  were  on  the 
pages,  her  mind  occupied  with  other  things;  she  was 
inattentive  to  the  comings  and  goings  in  the  ofl&ce  across 
the  hall  until  she  became  conscious  that  some  one  was 
staring  at  her. 

She  looked  up  quickly.  John  Taylor  was  standing  just 
outside  the  doorway. 

''Hello,  Marcia,'*  he  said. 

She  did  not  move  or  reply  for  an  instant,  nor  did  he 
advance;  just  stood  there,  framed  in  the  white  door 
casing,  while  the  girPs  mind  spun,  trjring  to  identify  this 
man  with  the  one  she  had  known  and  held  and  planned  to 
possess.  On  their  former  meeting  she  had  been  too  des- 
perately engaged  with  the  game  she  played  to  take  much 
notice  of  the  change  that  had  occurred  in  him,  but  now, 


298  TIMBER 

seeing  him  so  unexpectedly,  it  was  as  though  she  beheld 
a  man  remade. 

He  seemed  larger;  he  was  rough  and  unfinished.  His 
shoes  were  heavy  and  scuffed;  his  pants  were  khaki,  he 
wore  a  white  cotton  shirt  open  at  the  throat  and  no  coat; 
a  soiled  straw  hat  was  in  his  hand,  the  big,  brown  toil- 
stained  hand  which  hung  at  his  thigh.  There  was  rough- 
ness in  his  face,  too;  he  had  not  shaved  this  day,  but 
there  was  no  hint  of  uncouthness  in  his  neglect,  for  the 
skin  of  cheeks  and  chin  was  bronzed  by  sun  and  wind,  and 
seemed  to  be  shaped  in  new  lines.  There  was  a  different 
set  in  his  mouth,  a  gravity,  a  maturity  that  had  not  been 
in  John  Taylor  two  months  ago.  His  blue  eyes,  though 
they  smiled,  now,  seemed  steadier,  more  grave,  and 
very  serious. 

"Why,   John!" 

Her  cool  voice  was  low  and  she  rose  quickly,  half 
frightened. 

"I  didn't  know  whether  you'd  want  to  see  me  or  not." 
He  was  embarrassed  as  he  advanced  and  looked  into  her 
flushing    face. 

"That  shouldn't  have  been  hard  to  determine,"  she 
said  coldly. 

"I  suppose  not.  I  guess  we  have  said  everything  to 
each  other  that  can  be  said,  haven't  we?  " 

"We  havel" 

She  tried  to  breathe  normally,  but  the  leap  of  her  heart 
would  not  let  her.  She  felt  her  knees  tremble  and  averted 
her  gaze  from  his  steady  scrutiny. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said.  "I  told  you  that  once.  I  say  it 
again,  Marcia.  I'm  so  sorry  —  but  it  was  better  this  way 
than  —  going  on,  wasn't  it?" 


TIMBER  299 

She  looked  into  his  face  again  as  in  all  friendliness 
without  the  suggestion  of  a  whimper,  he  said  the  things 
from  which  most  men  would  shrink. 

She  heard  her  voice  saying: 

*'Yes.  Anything  was  better  than  going  on. "  She  tried 
to  put  sarcasm  into  the  tone,  wanted  to  wither  him  with 
her  scorn,  but  somehow  those  mercenary  impulses  in  her 
were  weakening,  breaking  down,  those  maxims  and  values 
that  had  been  nursed  and  cultivated  to  stifle  the  Marcia 
Murray  who  might  have  been,  were  giving  way,  and  with 
that  release  of  something  finer  and  gentler  went  her  self- 
possession  and  her  ability  to  fence  with  words.  For  the 
moment,  she  was  genuine  and  burst  out  impetuously, 
saying  the  things  she  had  said  to  herself  during  wakeful 
hours  at  Windigo,  things  she  had  told  herself  —  but  the 
truth  of  which  she  had  denied. 

"John,  I  made  a  fool  of  myself  that  day.  I  —  you 
see  —  I  have  been  badly  mistaken;  I've  said  and  done 
the  wrong  thing  for  long  —  there  are  a  great  many  things 
I  regret  and  one  of  them  is  the  scene  I  made  before  that 
girl  —  I  must  have  hurt  her. " 

"We  all  change,  Marcia,"  he  said  with  a  grave  smile. 
"I'm  glad  if  you're  sorry.  It  was  unworthy  of  you.  As 
for  Miss  Foraker,  though,  you  waste  time  feeling  for  her. 
Not  that  she's  thick-skinned.  It  might  have  disturbed 
her  a  great  deal,  but  she's  used  to  unpleasantness.  She's 
had  more  than  her  share." 

She  said:  "You  think  a  lot  of  her,  John?" 

She  pulled  the  straw  sailor  tighter  over  her  golden  hair, 
and  in  her  eyes  was  something  rueful  as  though  she 
wanted  him  to  make  denial. 

"Yes  — a   lot." 


300  TIMBER 

Marcia  drew  an  unsteady  breath  and  though  she  was 
in  tumult  now,  that  self-possession  she  had  practiced  for 
so  long  was  her  salvation. 

''And  she—" 

A  hurt  crossed  his  face.  It  was  an  ordeal  to  tell  the 
truth  to  this  girl,  but  he  could  not  evade. 

"She  thinks  I'm  her  worst  enemy.'' 

For  an  instant  a  flicker  as  of  hope  showed  in  the  girl's 
blue  eyes  but  as  she  looked  at  his  face,  saw  the  lines  of 
pain  deepen,  caught  the  sorrow  reflected  there,  that  hope 
departed  and  its  tenderness,  the  genuine  quality  of  it,  was 
replaced  by  something  sharp  and  hot;  as  natural,  but 
far  from  gentle:  jealousy. 

"That's  too  bad,"  she  said. 

She  meant  that;  but  within  her  was  confusion,  a 
ferment,  started  by  that  injection  of  jealousy.  Those  good 
impulses  lingered,  struggling  for  a  hold,  but  the  other 
Marcia,  the  one  who  had  first  loved  John  Taylor  for  the 
sake  of  his  father's  money,  who  had  played  him  against 
Phil  Rowe,  using  both  as  markers  in  a  mercenary  game, 
slowly  dominated,  covering  the  anguish  in  her  heart  with 
a  sort  of  joy  at  his  pain. 

And  yet  there  was  enough  of  that  transient  self  remain- 
ing to  wish  this  man  kindness.  She  did  not  want  him 
to  stay  until  she  lost  her  temper,  until  she  should  taunt 
him.  Already  the  jealousy  was  changing  to  the  acid  of 
temper. 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"Good-bye,  John,"  she  said,  with  something  of  the  old 
indifference  in  her  voice.  "I  wish  you  well.  I  must  go 
look  after  Fan,  now;  we'll  be  leaving  at  noon." 

She  slipped  past  him  into  the  hall.    Her  chin  was  up, 


TIMBER  301 

her  eyes  were  cool  and  calculating.  On  the  floor  above 
she  stopped  and  heard  him  go  out.  She  looked  about. 
The  doors  of  unoccupied  rooms  were  open,  shades  drawn, 
rickety  iron  beds  decked  in  grimy  coverlets.  She  shpped 
into  the  nearest,  closed  the  door  and  bolted  it  softly. 

Marcia  stood  there  a  moment,  hand  still  on  the  knob. 
The  other  went  to  her  face  and  formed  a  cup  over  her 
mouth.  Her  head  tipped  back  against  the  door  panel; 
her  eyes  closed.  The  trembling  of  her  body  shook  the 
rickety  transom  and  then  the  tears  came.  She  moved 
to  the  bed  and  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow.  For  a  long 
time  she  was  there,  gradually  quieting.  When  she  rose 
she  spent  many  minutes  at  the  wash  stand  repairing  the 
damage  her  outburst  had  wrought. 

Fan  Huston  was  picking  up  her  things  preparatory  to 
departure.  Rowe  and  Marcia  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the 
hotel.  The  man  was  listening  very  closely  to  what  his 
companion  had  to  say,  with  a  queer  twitching  of  his 
lips.    She  talked  rapidly,  earnestly. 

"IVe  been  a  waster, ''  she  concluded.  "IVe  wasted  the 
finest  things  that  were  in  me;  IVe  wasted  my  apprecia- 
tion, my  best  ambition,  my  intelUgence.  It's  too  late 
now  to  turn  back  so  long  as  there's  a  goal  in  sight.  I 
haven't  the  courage.  I'm  twenty-five,  but  being  twenty- 
five  and  thinking  as  I  have  since  I  was  in  my  'teens 
means  more  than  just  being  twenty-five. 

"Don't  misunderstand  me,  Phil.  I  can  give  you  a 
certain  happiness  in  return  for  the  luxury  I  want.  Without 
that  luxury  —  no. 

''  This  is  your  chance.  If  you  fail,  perhaps  my  chance 
will  come  later." 


302  TIMBER 

Her  voice  husked  for  the  first  time. 

"Your  chance?"  he  asked. 

"  My  chance !  I'm  bound  to  you  by  my  habit  of  thinking, 
now.  I  have  some  confidence  that  you  will  be  able  to  give 
me  the  things  I  have  sought  for  years.  But  if  you  should 
fail  I  don't  believe  that  I  could  begin  over,  hunting 
fortune  like  a  cat  stalks  its  food.  I'm  weak  —  weak 
enough  to  want  you  to  win;  but  if  you  should  fail  it 
might  be  necessary  for  me  to  try  something  else.  I  might 
be  a  nurse  or  an  office  woman  or  any  number  of  things  if 
necessary;  and  sometimes,  lately,  I've  hoped  it  might  be 
necessary! 

"There,  I  mustn't  cry!  I'm  sunburned  enough,  and  it 
makes  me  weak.  It's  a  long  drive  ahead.  Here  comes 
Fan." 

When  she  was  gone  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  whipped  away 
by  the  hot  wind  Rowe  stood  at  the  curb  a  long  interval, 
head  cocked,  watching  her  roadster  disappear  into  the 
jack  pines.  When  he  turned  back  into  the  hotel  he  was 
scratching  his  chin  and  his  crafty  eyes  showed  a  strange 
bafflement.  He  had  found  that  thing  in  Marcia  Murray 
which  had  staggered  him  in  John  Taylor,  honesty  and 
genuine  impulse.  In  her,  however,  it  had  been  but  a 
flash,  to  revive  again  only  in  case  he  failed  in  the  game 
he  played. 

He  snapped  his  thumb  and  laughed  —  somewhat 
uncertainly. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

Tuesday.  Still  the  sun  glared  through  the  smoke  of 
fires.  Clouds  appeared,  banked  in  the  west,  broke  and 
disappeared.  Each  noon  the  wind  dropped  and  hauled 
from  southwest  to  the  north  and  for  a  few  moments  its 
draft  was  cooled;  then  it  came  again  from  the  other 
quarter,  hot  and  dry. 

Himiphrey  Bryant  came  back  on  the  morning  train 
and,  without  changing  from  his  best  suit  of  black,  drove 
in  a  buggy  to  Foraker's  Folly. 

Helen  read  failure  in  his  face  even  before  he  spoke. 

''This  credit  situation  isn't  a  newspaper  flurry,"  he 
said.  "  It's  real.  Nobody  wants  this  loan,  Helen  —  not 
for  the  present.  And  the  Lord  alone  knows  how  long  it'll 
take  us  to  sober  up  financiallJ^" 

She  sat  down  weakly  and  for  an  hour  he  talked,  trying  to 
be  optimistic  but  without  much  success. 

And  then  the  girl  talked,  told  of  what  had  happened 
at  the  mill,  told  of  the  daily  letters  of  threat.  The  butcher 
in  Pancake  had  refused  her  check  and  that  stung  her 
despite  the  fact  that  the  garage  man  had  gone  out  of  his 
way  to  be  nice  to  her.  Dr.  Pelly  had  driven  in  to  tell  her 
that  there  were  friends  left  her,  no  matter  how  great  the 
bitterness  that  her  enemies  stirred  against  her. 

Thad  Parker  had  walked  over  from  his  farm  where 
the  sprouting  crops  were  burned  by  the  hot  sun  and  cut 
to  death  by  sand  blown  by  tireless  winds.  He  stumblingly 
told  how  he  himself  had  lain  in  wait  at  the  mill  at  night. 


304  TIMBER 

("I  don't  sleep  much,  now  —  since  Jenny's  sleeping 
out  there  under  the  oak  tree. ")  He  enumerated  some  of 
those  in  the  community  who  were  up  in  arms  at  the 
organized  campaign  against  her.  They  were  people  of 
little  influence. 

That  night  Thad  did  not  watch  the  mill.  Raymer  sat 
in  the  doorway  of  his  tar-paper  house,  a  shot  gun  handy, 
until  the  approach  of  dawn,  when  he  went  inside. 

He  had  not  seen  a  slowly-moving  hulk  come  up  to  the 
edge  of  the  brush  and  squat  and  wait,  wait  for  hours, 
scarcely  moving.  But  when  Raymer  went  within  the 
hulk  moved  back  into  the  brush,  wriggled  prostrate  on 
the  far  side  of  a  charred  log  and  went  through  the  intrinsic- 
ally innocent  operation  of  lighting  a  cigar. 

It  crept  forward  again  and  waited;  then  rose  and 
skulked  in  the  shelter  of  the  mill  and  appeared  again  on 
the  dam,  glow  of  the  cigar  hidden  in  the  curve  of  a  gnarled 
and  unsteady  hand  —  A  crowbar  prodded  the  earth, 
working  down  into  the  mud  and  muck.  From  his  shirt 
bosom  the  man  extracted  very  carefully  a  bundle  of 
greasy  cylinders  and  tamped  them  down  into  the  opening 
his  bar  had  made,  keeping  the  long  white  tail  which 
extended  from  the  packet  dry.  He  looked  about  and 
listened.  His  head  bowed  down,  and  with  both  hands  he 
shielded  "the  glow  of  the  cigar,  held  it  against  that  white 
tail  —  a  sputter,  a  careful  scuttling  across  the  clearing 
and  into  the  brush. 

The  sleepy  chirping  of  the  first  birds  was  stilled  by  the 
heavy,  muffled  detonation.  Mud  and  dry  earth  were 
thrown  high.  The  gravel  of  the  road  which  crossed  the 
dam  was  broken  and  cracked.  Water  filled  the  crevices, 
began  spilling  through  on  the  far  side;   the  seep  became 


TIMBER  305 

a  rush;  the  rush  washed  out  a  gutter.  This  breach  widened 
and  before  half-dressed  men  ran  from  the  shanties  the 
pond  was  roaring  thi'ough  the  broken  dam,  lowering 
rapidly  as  its  own  escape  made  drainage  faster.  The 
birds  picked  up  their  chirping  again  and  broke  into  song, 
but  before  they  began  to  fly  against  the  orange  heavens 
to  the  eastward  the  pond  was  drained  and  half  the  dam 
washed   away. 

On  the  carriage  in  the  mill  was  found  a  soiled  envelope 
addressed  to  Helen. 

''So  far  we've  gone  easy.  If  you  don't  clear  out  at 
once  we  will  show  you  what  we  can  do. —  Citizens'  Com- 
mittee." 

It  was  hot  in  Detroit  that  morning  as  well,  with  a 
steady  breeze  from  the  southwest  which  kicked  up  white 
caps  in  the  river  and  made  the  pines  in  Luke  Taylor's 
garden  moan  steadily.  The  old  man  sat  in  his  library 
with  the  photographs  of  the  Foraker  timber  that  Rowe  had 
taken  spread  about  him  on  the  table,  holding  a  telephone 
receiver  to  his  ear. 

"Hello  —  HeUo  —  You,  Rowe? " 
He  hitched  forward  as  an  assuring  voice  came  into  his 
ear. 

"  What  the  devil's  wrong  with  you?  " 
"We've  been  delayed  a  bit,  Mr.  Taylor." 
"Delayed?    My  God,  ain't   you   got  authority    and 
money?  What's  delayed  you?" 

"The  party  isn't  quite  ready  to  close." 
"Not  ready!  What's  holdin'  it  up?  Money?" 
"Well,  no  —  they  haven't  made  up  their  minds." 
"Oh,  they  haven't  made  up  their  minds  they  want 


306  TIMBER 

to  sell  what  I  want  to  buy?  I  want  to  buy!  Are  you  a 
dummy,  Rowe,  or  just  a  dead  one?  *' 

"Money  doesn't  seem  to  be  much  of  an  object  — " 

"No  object!  My  God,  Rowe,  now  I  know  you're  a  dead 
one!  You're  no  good;  come  on  home.  I'll  go  up  and  close 
the  thing  myself  —  no,  stay  there !  I'll  be  up  tomorrow  — 
tomorrow  —  hear  that?" 

Phil  Rowe  emerged  from  the  telephone  booth  in  the 
Commercial  House  with  the  pallor  of  his  face  accentuated. 
To  buy  this  pine  had  been  to  him  the  entry  into  his  own, 
but  Luke  Taylor  would  not  give  him  time.  To  have  the 
old  man  close  the  deal  himself  would  rob  Rowe  of  his 
coveted  glory.  And  so  much  depended  on  that!  The 
drawing  of  the  new  will  —  his  future  —  Marcia  Murray  — 

He  stood  on  the  hotel  steps.  Helen's  car  was  across  the 
way  and  while  he  eyed  it  surlily  the  girl  herself  crossed  the 
street.  She  moved  slowly  and  her  face  beneath  the  hat  of 
brown  straw  was  dark  and  troubled.  She  disappeared 
through  the  door  of  the  bank.  Rowe  remained  there  some 
time.  For  the  days  he  had  put  in  at  Pancake,  for  his 
scheming,  his  duplicity,  he  had  nothing  to  show  but  the 
troubled  look  on  that  girl's  face.  He  was  in  doubt,  with 
desperation  mounting  quickly.  Oh,  for  another  fort- 
night, a  week  —  a  few  days !  But  he  could  delay  no  longer. 
He  started  along  the  wooden  sidewalk. 

Jim  Harris  sat  beside  Wilcox  the  cashier  and  as  Helen 
entered  they  stopped  their  talk  and  looked  at  the  girl 
and  then  at  one  another.  The  sheriff  was  writing  a  check. 
Sim  Burns  lounged  in  a  chair.  Wes  Hubbard  scanned  a 
calendar  in  obvious  effort  to  appear  unconscious  of 
Helen's  presence,  and  a  farmer  from  down  river  watched 
her  curiously. 


TIMBER  307 

She  passed  on  to  the  one  teller^s  window,  made  a 
deposit,  took  a  packet  of  papers  from  her  skirt  pocket 
and  went  into  the  tiny  customers'  room.  Soon  a  step 
sounded  on  the  threshold  of  the  room  and  she  looked  up 
to  face  Philip  Rowe  as  he  removed  his  hat.  His  black 
hair  glistened,  his  mohair  suit  was  sleek,  his  black  eyes 
glittered ;  his  white  skin  seemed  to  shine,  with  smoothness, 
with  slipperiness. 

''Miss  Foraker,"  he  said  and  bowed,  "may  I  come  in?" 

He  did  not  wait  for  a  reply  but  entered,  drawing  the 
door  closed  behind  him  and  settled  into  the  chair  on  the 
other  side  of  the  small  table. 

"I  was  going  to  call  on  you  today,"  he  said.  "Then  I 
heard  about  the  accident  last  night  and  thought  you  might 
not  have  time.  But  since  you  are  in  town  we  may  as  well 
talk." 

A  pause.  Her  silence  challenged  him.  He  moistened 
his  lips,  picking  at  the  blotter,  eyes  on  his  uneasy  fingers. 

"Perhaps  I,  being  a  stranger,  am  better  able  to  judge 
your  situation  than  you  are  —  because  I  have  perspective. 
I  have  seen  people  in  similar  circumstances,  but  I  have 
never  seen  any  one  so  hard  pressed  by  public  sentiment 
as  you  are  —  through  no  fault  of  your  own,  probably, " 
with  suavity. 

"One  cannot  help  admiring  your  pluck,  but  did  you 
ever  stop  to  consider  that  the  line  which  divides  pluck 
from  —  shall  we  say  foolhardiness?  —  is  not  very  distmct? 
It  is  courageous  to  fight  not  only  your  neighbors,  but  the 
laws  of  the  state  and  the  financial  depression,  but  is  it  wise. 
Miss  Foraker?  Be  honest  with  yourself.  Do  you  hope 
to  beat  the  game?" 

He   leaned   forward,    eyes   on   her   face,    steady   and 


308  TIMBER 

betraying  none  of  the  misgiving  that  the  latent  hostility 
in  her  stirred  in  him.  She  gave  no  indication  of  replying, 
so  he  went  on. 

"I  came  to  you  in  good  faith  and  asked  for  an  option. 
Had  my  intentions  not  been  of  the  best  I  would  have 
waited,  for  every  one  knew  of  the  storm  that  was  gather- 
ing about  you.  I  didn't  want  to  take  advantage  of  mis- 
fortune. I  come  to  you  again.  Miss  Foraker,  asking  you 
only  to  name  a  figure.  It  will  mean  a  fortune  to  you.  It 
will  enable  you  to  seek  happiness  and  peace  of  mind  in 
more  congenial  surroundings.  We  will  not  be  niggardly. 
We  will  pay  for  value  received. " 

The  suggestion  of  a  bitter  smile  moved  the  girl's  lips. 

"And  if  I  hold  out?  If  I  tell  you  again  that  my  forest 
is  not  for  sale?  What  then?'* 

He  settled  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed  shortly. 

"Then  the  trouble  may  become  a  little  —  rougher. 
You  have  been  warned  of  that." 

His  insinuation  broke  through  her  growing  temper, 
touching  suspicion. 

"That  is  your  guess,  you  mean,"  watching  him  closely. 

"Not  a  guess!"  he  flashed.   "I  happen  to  know!" 

"You  are  bluffing,"  she  challenged.  "You  are  working 
in  the  dark."  He  leaned  forward  again. 

"I  know  what  you  know,  that  you  have  been  warned 
repeatedly  that,  step  by  step,  the  warnings  have  proved 
to  have  foundation,  that — " 

"What  warnings?" 

She  laughed  tantalizingly  and  he  flashed:  "Warnings 
of  a  committee  of — '' 

He  saw  the  triumphant  smile  sweep  into  her  eyes  with 
the  leaping  rage  as  she  stood  up  quickly  and  cried:  "So 


TIMBER  309 

you  know  what  no  one  else  knows!  I  know  of  these 
warnings,  my  foreman  knows,  Humphrey  Bryant,  Doctor 
Pelly  and  a  few  others  know,  and  for  days  they  have  tried 
to  find  who  else  knows.  No  one  knows,  but  you  and  the 
other  skulkers  who  have  everything  to  gain  by  scaring 
me  out!" 

Guilt  crimsoned  his  face.  He  stammered  something 
which  she  did  not  hear  as  she  stepped  past  him  and 
opened  the  door.  The  sheriff,  Hubbard,  Burns  and 
Harris  were  grouped  about  the  cashier's  desk;  as  she 
came  out  they  looked  at  her  and  drew  apart. 

Rowe  was  beside  her.  "I  don't  know  what  you're 
talking  about,"  he  muttered,  "but  you're  making  a 
grave   charge." 

She  wheeled  to  face  him.  ''Grave  is  it?  I  hope  the 
time  will  come  when  you'll  realize  how  grave  it  is,  when 
I  can  bring  you  to  answer  it!" 

She  stopped.  Her  scorching  gaze  ran  from  Rowe  to 
that  other  group,  to  the  three  countrymen  at  the  teller's 
window  who  had  turned  to  watch.  She  was  unaware 
that  the  street  door  had  opened  and  another  man  stood 
behind  her,  staring  at  the  scene. 

''You,  Citizens'  Conmiittee!"  she  said.  "You  black- 
mailers!" 

They  were  all  there,  the  interests  which  had  schemed 
to  undo  her  and  the  agencies  they  had  used.  For  the 
first  time  she  confronted  them  and  all  the  pain  and 
suspense  which  they  had  aroused  was  crystallized  in 
righteous  anger. 

There  was  a  stirring  in  the  group,  a  muttering,  but 
with  a  gesture,  made  imperious  by  her  rage,  she  stilled 
them.   She  had  not  lifted  her  voice.   She  had  spoken  her 


310  TIMBER 

charge  lowly  and  it  was  the  poignancy  of  her  wrath  which 
gave  her  control  over  those  men  —  that,  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  their  guilt! 

"No,  I'm  going  to  talk  now!"  as  Rowe  stepped  toward 
her  and  began  to  speak.  ''You've  worked  in  the  dark, 
you've  struck  from  behind  but  don't  flatter  yourselves 
that  you've  covered  your  tracks.  You  men  —  Jim 
Harris  and  his  tools  —  you  are  the  ones  I  mean,  and  let 
there  be  no  misunderstanding!  You  have  made  a  joke 
of  law  and  justice  in  this  county.  You  have  stooped  to 
the  use  of  dynamite  and  fire  to  drive  me  out  so  Pontiac 
Power  might  profit  and  so  Luke  Taylor  might  make 
worthless  slashings  out  of  a  growing  forest!  That  speaks 
well  for  you,  doesn't  it?"  She  laughed  mirthlessly. 
''Chief  Pontiac  Power  and  a  millionaire  lumberman  using 
bomb  and  torch  and  blackmail  against  a  penniless  girl!" 

Harris  stepped  forward. 

"You're  putting  yourself  pretty  thoroughly  on  record, 
young  lady,"  he  said.  "You're  going  too  far  with  your 
talk  about  lawlessness.  You  may  find  out  that  there's  a 
law  which  will  protect  the  good  name  of  — " 

"Good  name!"  she  scoffed  under  her  breath.  "Good 
name?  Is  it  your  good  name,  Jim  Harris?  Is  your  name 
good,  Mr.  Rowe?" 

"Hold  your  tongue!"  Rowe  cried  in  a  shaking  voice 
and  his  viciousness  staggered  her  for  the  moment.  "You 
will  have  an  opportunity  to  prove  these  things  you  have 
said  about  these  men,  about  me,  about  Mr.  Taylor. " 

The  leap  of  light  in  the  eyes  of  the  man  behind  Helen 
Foraker  snapped  Rowe's  gaze  from  her  face  and  as  he 
stared  over  her  shoulder  the  sinister  quality  in  his  expres- 
sion deepened. 


TIMBER  311 

"There  are  limits  — "  he  began. 

A  step  sounded  beside  Helen.  Breathing  rapidly,  she 
turned  and  saw  John  Taylor  standing  there.  She  did 
not  see  the  glare  he  gave  Phil  Rowe,  did  not  detect  the 
bewilderment  in  Rowe's  face.  Her  heart  paused  in  its 
wild  measure.  This  was  the  man  who  had  betrayed  her, 
who  had  done  more,  even,  than  menace  her  forest.  He 
belonged  with  these  others  —  he,  whose  Ups  had  been  on 
hers! 

Then  he  spoke. 

"There  are,  Phil;  you^re  right.  There  are  limits  to 
endurance.    You've  overstepped  them." 

His  manner  was  quite  easy,  almost  tolerant. 

"So  you — "  Rowe  began  again. 

"You  will  keep  still  now."  John  interrupted.  "You 
will  keep  still,"  voice  rising,  "or  I'll  thrash  you  until 
you  grovel  on  your  knees  before  Miss  Foraker!" 

Rowe  drew  back.  A  choking  sound  came  from  his 
throat  and  he  shook  his  head. 

"If  you  know  what's  best  for  you,  you'll  keep  out  of 
this!"  he  cried,  beside  himself.  "You've  done  enough 
now  to  damn  you  forever  in  the  old  man's  eyes!  You've 
blocked  me  for  the  last  time,  Taylor!" 

John's  hand  was  on  his  shoulder,  gripping  into  the 
flesh.  Rowe  winced  and  twisted  to  be  away  from  that 
grip,  away  from  the  blazing  eyes. 

He  struck  a  quick  blow,  which  glanced  from  John's 
cheek  bone  and  then  cried  aloud  as  he  was  lifted  from  his 
feet  and  slammed  against  the  wall.  He  felt  fierce  breath 
in  his  face  as  he  struggled  and  cursed,  felt  hard  fingers 
at  his  throat,  felt  a  fist  like  a  knot  of  wood  bash  into  one 
eye,  felt  his  Ups  burst  like  grapes  at  another  blow  and 


312  TIMBER 

found  himself  bruised  and  bleeding  on  the  floor  while 
men  scuffled  about  him  and  Taylor  struck  again  and  again 
and  cried:  ''I'll  break  your  spine  —  I'll  kill  you,  Rowe!" 

They  were  on  Taylor,  trying  to  hold  him,  scrambling 
and  shouting  as  he  flung  them  off  to  be  at  Rowe  again. 
And  then  the  sheriff,  drawing  his  revolver,  brought  it 
down  smartly  on  John's  head  —  and  the  fight  stopped. 

John  stood  up,  the  sheriff  holding  his  arm,  shaking  him. 

''That  ought  to  be  pretty  good,"  said  Harris  with  a 
laugh.  "You  all  heard  him  say,  'I'll  kill  you,  Rowe.'  And 
look  at  Rowe's  face!  That  ought  to  be  about  assault 
with  intent  to  do  great  bodily  harm  less  than  the  crime 
of  murder,  hadn't  it?"  to  the  sheriff.  "We  don't  want  to 
bear  down  too  hard!" 

Taylor  felt  his  head  and  blinked  as  clear  consciousness 
came  back.  He  was  being  led  down  the  street,  up  the 
court  house  steps,  through  the  echoing  hall;  a  barred 
door  was  closing. 

Helen  Foraker  had  heard,  had  seen  the  enmity  between 
Taylor  and  Rowe.  She  stared  at  John  and  as  he  dodged 
that  first  blow  she  turned  and  stumbled  through  the 
doorway  and  ran  across  the  street,  leaping  into  her  car, 
fleeing  for  the  sanctity  of  her  forest  where  she  could  think 
and  reason  and  try  to  straighten  this  thing  out  for  her- 
self. 

She  had  driven  him  out,  yet  he  had  blocked  Rowe  in 
his  purpose.  He  had  betrayed  her  and  today  he  had  been 
her  defender.  The  throbbing  of  her  heart  almost  choked 
her:  wild  hope  and  abject  misery  blinded  her. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

Pancake  does  not  figure  largely  in  the  schedule  of 
passenger  trains,  but  the  next  morning  the  five  o'clock 
north-bound  stopped  at  the  station,  let  off  a  pair  of 
sleepy  passengers,  moved  slowly  ahead,  stopped  and 
backed  into  the  switch,  where  the  last  car  with  "Private" 
lettered  on  its  doors  was  uncoupled. 

A  curtain  went  up  behind  a  screen  and  the  thin  face  of 
Luke  Taylor  peered  out  from  his  stateroom.  His  lips 
moved  and  his  old  eyes  roved  the  visible  portion  of  the 
little  town  eagerly. 

The  chef  and  porter  were  astir,  very  busy,  very  quiet. 

Luke's  arrival  had  been  watched.  Phil  Rowe,  hastening 
into  his  clothes,  stopped  long  enough  to  peer  out  anxiously 
and  then  went  on,  arriving  at  the  precise  adjustment  of 
his  cravat  with  dispatch. 

Jim  Harris  rolled  over,  half  hung  out  of  bed,  saw  the 
car  at  the  station  and  lolled  back  on  his  pillow,  stretching 
and    grinning. 

John  Taylor,  in  a  stinking  cell  of  the  jail,  pressed  his 
face  against  the  steel  bars  of  his  small  window  to  see. 
He  had  not  slept,  but  had  paced  the  floor  all  night.  His 
hair  was  rumpled,  face  drawn  and  his  blue  eyes  blazed 
with  helpless  fury  as  he  watched  Phil  Rowe  hasten  down 
the  street  and  mount  the  brass  railed  platform  of  his 
father's  private  car. 

Rowe  spoke  quietly  to  the  porter  who  replied  in  a 

313 


314  TIMBER 

cautious  whisper,  but  before  the  caller  could  sit  down  a 
muffled  voice  reached  them. 

^'You,   Rowe?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Taylor,"  he  replied  outside  the  stateroom 
door. 

**  Well,  come  in!  Don't  stand  there  palaverin'!" 

From  his  rumpled  bed  Luke  stared  hard  at  his  secre- 
tary, the  chronic  irritability  which  had  been  in  his  eyes 
yielding  to  amazement.  For  a  long  moment  he  studied  the 
broken  lips,  the  purple  patch  below  one  eye,  the  lump  on  a 
cheek  bone. 

''Who  the  devil  did  that?'' 

Rowe  made  a  grimace. 

"Your  son,"  he  said  simply.  A  gleam  of  something 
like  satisfaction  leaped  into  the  half  closed  eye  and  its 
normal  mate.  "We  had  a  slight  argument  as  to  the 
advisability  of  your  going  ahead  and  buying  this  pine. 
It  ended  —  this  way. " 

For  a  moment  Luke  said  nothing  and  Rowe  thought  the 
thin  lips  moved  in  a  half  smile  of  sardonic  pride.  But 
a  flush  came  into  the  face  and  anger  showed  in  the  old  eyes. 

"He  went  that  far?  You're  sure  that  was  the  trouble? 
He  fought  you  to  stop  this  deal?" 

"And  that's  only  part  of  it,  sir.  He  has  raised  —  quite 
a  disturbance." 

"Where  is  he  now?" 

"In  jail." 

Luke  set  his  feet  on  the  floor  and  stood  up,  night-shirt 
dangling  about  his  shrunken  calves.  He  was  a  stooped 
gaunt,  scare-crow  of  a  figure. 

"In  jail,  eh?  For  what?" 

"Assault." 


TIMBER  315 

For  a  moment  the  other  stared  at  him,  lips  open. 

"You're  not  lyin'  to  me,  Rowe?"  Impulses  were  in 
conflict  within  him;  he  breathed  faster.  "It  was  that, 
was  it?  It  wasn't  anything  else?  He  did  that  because  of 
me?""' 

"Yes,^su'."' 

Rowe  maintained  his  composure  by  effort.  He  saw 
the  strange  admiration  in  the  old  man's  face,  mingling 
with  paternal  instinct,  with  rage. 

"No.  You  wouldn't  lie  —  "a  sharp  hiss  of  impatience 
slipped  from  Luke  and  rage  alone  remained  in  his  face. 
"Jail,  eh?  Lucky  for  him  —  th'  cub.  Lucky  he  don't  have 
to  face  me  this  mornin'  —  after  puttin'  that  face  on  you  — 
for  trying  to  carry  out  my  orders!" 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  young  Wilcox,  flattered  and 
flustered,  drove  his  automobile  down  to  the  station  and 
backed  it  in  beside  the  Taylor  car.  He  cleared  his  throat 
nervously  as  Rowe  helped  the  great  Luke  down  the  steps 
and  got  out  of  his  seat  to  remove  his  hat  and  self-con- 
sciously acknowledge  the  introduction. 

Luke  merely  grunted  at  Wilcox  and  settled  into  the  seat. 
He  had  nothing  to  say  as  the  car  rolled  out  of  town  and 
took  up  the  twisting  trail  to  the  northward.  He  had  on 
a  linen  duster,  his  hat  was  drawn  low,  amber  glasses 
protected  his  eyes,  and  as  soon  as  they  were  settled  Rowe 
tucked  a  robe  about  his  ankles.  Within  a  mile,  however, 
Luke  kicked  this  protection  irritably  aside  and  glared  at 
his  secretary  as  though  the  accustomed  precaution  against 
chill  were  an  affront. 

They  topped  a  high  ridge,  made  bald  by  repeated  fires, 
and  away  before  them  spread  the  country,  like  a  tinted 


316  TIMBER 

carpet.  Dried  grass  gave  to  lavender  in  the  distance; 
the  wilted  foliage  of  the  brush  and  small  trees  took  on  a 
counterfeit  vividness;  far  to  the  north  and  westward  a 
veil  of  smoke  hazed  the  horizon.  But  it  was  not  the 
expanse  of  devastation,  not  the  ominous  smoke  veil,  that 
caused  Luke  to  sit  forward  sharply.  It  was  the  long,  blue- 
green  line  of  the  pine  trees,  Foraker's  Folly,  standing  there 
in  the  middle  distance. 

"  Pine?  "  he  asked  tersely  and  Rowe  answered  and  talked 
volubly.  But  Luke  did  not  listen.  He  sank  back  when 
they  dipped  into  the  valley,  straightened  again  when  they 
could  see  the  forest,  this  time  with  the  crowns  of  dominant 
trees  distinct  against  the  sky. 

And  then  they  were  in  the  protecting  cool  of  its  shade, 
crossing  the  outside  fire  line,  leaving  the  fringe  of  oak 
brush  behind,  driving  into  the  clear  stand  of  white  pine. 

From  afar  their  progress  had  been  watched.  Black 
Joe,  perched  in  Watch  Pine,  had  caught  a  reflected  flash 
of  light.  He  followed  the  progress  with  his  glass,  dividing 
his  attention  between  it  and  the  fire  to  the  northward. 
He  called  down  to  Helen: 

''Big  car  makin'  in  toward  Snipe  Meadow." 
He  offered  to  go  over  himself  and  watch,  but  the  girl 
shook  her  head.  In  a  moment  she  shoved  her  canoe  into 
the  river,  paddled  down  stream,  rounded  two  bends, 
beached  and  went  ashore,  stopping  to  listen,  but  hearing  at 
first  only  the  sough  of  wind  in  the  tops. 

Wilcox  looked  around  to  smile  into  Luke^s  face. 
"It  isn^t  the  kind  of  pine  you  know,   Mr.  Taylor, 
but—" 


TIMBER  317 

The  slight  gesture  of  a  bony  hand  cut  hun  off.  Luke 
was  leaning  forward,  goggles  off,  staring  down  the  fire 
line  which  cleft  the  forest  for  half  a  mile  before  it  dis- 
appeared over  a  low  swell.  His  lips  were  parted,  his 
breath  fast. 

''Tolman  says  this  is  probably  the  best  of  it,"  volun- 
teered Rowe.  "This  was  where  the  first  photographs 
were  taken  and — " 

The  old  man  did  not  care  what  Rowe  had  to  say.  He 
reached  for  the  door  of  the  car,  shoved  it  open  and  stepped 
to  the  ground.  He  stood  there,  looking  up  and  about, 
leaning  on  his  gold  headed  stick. 

''Pine!"  he  muttered  and  cocked  his  head  to  listen 
to  the  talk  of  a  thousand  trees.   He  moved  a  few  steps. 

"White  Pine,"  under  his  breath.  "Michigan  Pine  — 
babies  —  baby  pine!" 

No,  it  was  not  the  pine  he  had  known,  not  the  massive 
poles,  not  the  clean  timber,  not  the  ragged,  high  tops. 
It  was  brushy,  with  trunks  still  retaining  dead  branches. 
There  were  no  four  or  five-log  trees;  there  were  few  that 
his  men  would  have  respected.  It  was  baby  pine,  but  it 
was  uniform.  There  were  trees  that  would  yield  two  good 
logs,  as  saw-logs  go  today;  there  were  a  few  that  would 
make  three.  And  it  was  thick!  It  was  solid,  without  a 
Norway,  without  a  hardwood  tree  in  sight.  It  was  straight, 
like  straight,  slim  children,  and  it  talked  as  the  pine  he 
had  known  and  loved  and  mastered  had  talked ! 

Oh,  that  whispering!  It  quickened  his  heart;  it  refreshed 
memories  that  had  been  dormant  for  years;  it  tapped 
wells  of  emotion  that  he  had  forgotten;  it  sent  a  flush  to 
his  cheeks,  a  bright  light  of  greed  to  his  old  eyes.  He 
panted. 


318  TIMBER 

Rowe  was  beside  him  and  Wilcox  was  leaving  the  car. 

"There's  ten  thousand  acres  like  this,"  Phil  began, 
but  again  that  arresting  gesture  silenced  him. 

At  Luke's  feet  was  a  section  stake.  He  half  stumbled 
on  it  as  he  took  a  step  and  looked  down.  He  lifted  his  face 
high,  then,  that  he  might  see  the  sun.  Impatiently  he 
handed  Rowe  his  stick  and  moved  to  the  north  edge  of 
the  line.  He  brought  his  heels  together  and  looked  ahead 
and  began  to  pace.  Ten  lengthy  steps  he  took  and  came  to 
a  halt,  looking  to  his  left,  counting  with  soundless  move- 
ments of  his  lips;  to  the  right,  and  counting  again, 
checking  each  enumeration  with  fingers  that  trembled. 
Another  ten  yards;  more  counting.  Another  ten,  and 
again  the  checking  of  trees  that  stood  to  right  and 
left. 

Rowe  and  Wilcox  stood  in  the  fire  line  watching  him, 
waiting,  for  Philip  knew  that  this  was  no  moment  to 
interrupt.  He  watched  his  master  disappear  in  the  forest 
going  toward  the  river  ten  yards  at  a  time,  now  and  then 
putting  out  a  hand  against  a  solid  trunk  for  support 
because  his  limbs,  though  stronger  than  they  had  been 
in  years,  trembled  with  excitement. 

Fifty-five  yards  Luke  went,  and  he  had  estimated 
the  timber  on  a  quarter  of  an  acre.  Tolman  was  right; 
Tolman  had  been  conservative!  His  heart  rapped  his 
ribs  as  it  had  not  done  in  years.  There  was  no  distress 
in  its  measure;  joy  only,  joy  such  as  he  had  not  known 
in  years,  joy,  the  taste  of  which  was  sweet  in  his  mouth; 
joy  which  gave  him  strength. 

Another  ten  —  twenty  —  fifty-five  — 

"Pine!"  he  whispered;  and  then  aloud,  "Michigan 
Pine!" 


TIMBER  319 

He  ceased  his  counting.  He  tilted  his  head  to  the  talk 
in  the  tops  above  him. 

Another  sound  was  manifest;  the  murmur  of  the 
Blueberry,  and  he  moved  on,  emerging  suddenly  from  the 
thick  forest  to  the  high  bank  of  the  river  and  there  he 
stopped.  It  ran  below  him,  crystal  clear,  emerald  water 
over  golden  sand,  swirling  into  a  violet  pool  at  his  right. 
Across  the  way  was  a  fringe  of  reeds,  freshness  itself 
caught  in  color  and  behind  them  was  a  stretch  of 
swamp,  dead  cedar  and  vivid  tamarack  against  the  back- 
ground of  more  pine  on  the  high  land. 

He  did  not  see  the  canoe  beached  above  him,  did  not 
notice  the  figure  just  starting  into  the  forest,  which  stopped 
dead  still  behind  trees  to  watch  him.  For  a  moment  the 
wind  abated  and  the  talk  of  the  trees  ran  into  the  faintest 
breath  while  across  the  way  a  white  throated  sparrow 
broke  into  his  sweet,  sweet  song,  as  clear  as  the  waters 
of  the  river  themselves. 

^^0-o-o-oh,  dear,  dear,  d-d-dear,  d-d-dear,  dear  — " 

Again  his  hand  went  out  to  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  fingers 
gripping  the  bark  this  time  with  the  tensity  of  a  strange 
emotion.  His  face  lifted  to  the  clean  sky  and  his  heart 
opened  to  the  song  of  the  bird. 

"0-o-o-oh,  dear,  dear,  d-d-dear,  d-d-dear,  dear — " 

He  looked  up  at  the  crowns  above  him,  the  whispering 
tops  of  the  pine  trees;  he  turned  to  see  the  ranks  of  trees 
through  which  he  had  come,  the  trees  he  had  counted. 
Something  broke  within  him  and  light  went  from  his  eyes. 
Board  feet!  Always,  he  had  looked  at  forests  in  the  terms 
of  board  feet;  today  it  was  something  else.  There  was 
more  to  this  stand  of  baby  pine  than  lumber,  more  than 
wealth.  "^ 


320  TIMBER 

A  breath  caught  in  his  throat  and  his  eyes  dimmed.  He 
Ustened  again  and  heard  that  time  in  the  whispers  of  the 
tops  an  echo  of  his  lost  youth;  the  trees,  the  river,  the 
wind,  the  birds  —  it  was  a  symphony  of  all  that  he  had 
ever  held  dearest,  of  all  that  he  had  been  denied,  but 
even  then  he  did  not  know  that  sentiment  had  broken 
down  the  wall  that  long  years  of  effort,  that  great  material 
triumphs,  that  final  disillusionment  had  built  as  its 
prison.  He  moved  toward  the  nearest  tree  and  put  out 
his  hand  as  though  for  support;  but  he  did  not  need  help 
to  stand.  Plis  palms  pressed  the  bark  on  either  side  the 
trunk;  then  stroked,  gently,  as  a  man  will  stroke  some 
dear   possession. 

"Pine!"  he  muttered —  " Michigan  Pine!  Oh,  God — 
I  thank  you  —  thank  you! — " 

He  stood  a  moment  watching,  listening,  feeling,  smelling, 
letting  his  senses  play  with  this  great  blessing  which  was 
within  his  grasp.  Then  he  turned  and  started  back  into  the 
forest,  stride  feeble  but  with  returning  strength,  the 
strength  of  hope,  of  satisfaction  —  He  went  faster,  with 
the  haste  of  greed. 

Once  again  the  forest  was  so  many  board  feet  — 

Helen  Foraker  watched  him  go.  Then  she  sat  down  on 
the  bank,  legs  dangling  over  the  brink  and  slowly  broke 
dead  needles  into  bits  as  she  stared  abstractedly  before 
her.  There  was  in  her  eyes,  behind  the  trouble,  something 
like  hope  —  a  vision  of  an  incredible  opportunity. 

''Where's  the  girl?"   Luke  asked  as  he  emerged  from 
the  forest. 
"At  her  home,  likely,"  Rowe  responded,  startled  by 


TIMBER  321 

the  eagerness  of  the  query  and  by  the  light  in  the  old 
man's  face. 

"Let's  see  her  now.  By  God,  Rowe,  Tolman  was 
right!" 

"  If  you  think  it  best,  Mr.  Taylor.  There  are  things  — " 

"What  things?" 

He  paused,  with  a  foot  on  the  running  board,  but  as 
he  turned  Rowe  saw  that  this  was  no  rebuke,  that  it  was 
all  interest  and  caution. 

"  It  might  be  best  to  have  you  go  over  the  local  situation, 
let  me  explain  what  we  have  done,  call  in  Harris  and  per- 
haps some  others.    It  —  it's  likely  to  be  quite  difficult. " 

Seated  in  the  car  Luke  said: 

"Maybe  you're  right,  Rowe.  We  won't  take  any 
chances.   Let's  go  at  it  — 

"Mr.  —  Mr.,  whatever  your  name  is,  you  don't  have 
to  go  so  damned  slow  for  me.  I  can  stand  a  bump  or  two! " 

Upon  the  edge  of  Seven  Mile  Swamp  Jim  Harris  stood 
in  Charley  Stump's  cabin.  He  had  the  old  man  by  the 
wrist  and  Charley  had  sunk  whimpering  to  one  knee. 

"Afraid  are  you?"  Harris  snarled.    "Afraid  of  what?" 

"I  tell  you,  he's  been  watchin'  me,  Jim!  He  follered 
me." 

"There's  nothing  for  you  to  be  afraid  of  but  me. 
He's  safe.  We've  got  him  locked  up.  I  can  lock  you  up, 
too,  for  the  rest  of  your  life,  you  blackmailer!  You  do  as 
I  say  —  if  you  throw  me  down,  by  God,  you'll  do  time!" 

He  released  his  grip  on  the  withered  wrist  and  the  old 
recluse  rose,  rubbing  the  flesh  where  that  clutch  had 
been  — 

"  All  right,  Jim  —  I'll  do  as  you  say  —  Don't  send  me 


322  TIMBER 

to  jail,  Jim!  Don't  send  me  to  jail!  —  I'll  do  it  tomorrow 

—  at  dawn,  Jim,  unless  it  rains  — 

*' An'  Jim  —  you  mean  that,  about  tires  for  my  safety?" 
"You'll  get  your  tires,  all  right  —  unless  you  go  to  jail. 

And  you'll  go  to  jail  if  you  don't  make  good,  or  if  you  get 

caught!" 

That  afternoon  Rowe  and  Luke  Taylor  sat  for  long  in 
the  car  on  the  siding  at  Pancake,  shades  drawn  tight  to 
keep  out  the  sun,  electric  fans  doing  their  best  with  the 
air.  Rowe  talked  rapidly,  careful  of  sequence  and  the 
other  followed  him  closely. 

Later  Jim  Harris  came  in  and  the  three  talked.  Before 
Jim  rose  to  go,  he  said : 

"This  feeling  against  her  works  for  you.  I've  never 
seen  so  much  resentment.  Public  opinion  sure  is  playing 
into  your  hands,  Mr.  Taylor!" 

"Public  opinion,  hell!"  snapped  Luke.  "I  knew  public 
opinion  before  you  were  born,  Harris.  Business  is  business. 
Sometimes  it  has  to  get  a  little  rough,  but  don't  try  to  fool 
me,  Harris;  don't  try  to  pull  any  wool  over  my  eyes. " 

With  a  close  approach  to  confusion  Jim  made  his  exit 
while  Phil  Rowe  covered  his  embarrassment,  for  his 
employer's  scornful  gaze  had  included  him,  by  fussing 
with  a  broken  cigar. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

The  new  day  dawned  ominously,  with  wind  in  the  west 
and  acrid  smoke  making  the  early  sun  like  a  huge  orange, 
which  faded  to  a  silver  disc  as  it  moved  upward.  Last 
evening  Luke  had  ordered  his  secretary  to  bid  Helen 
Foraker  come  to  him  and  Row^e  had  returned  from  the 
telephone,  chagrined  and  ill  tempered. 

"She  won't  come,"  he  said  hotly.  ''Wants  to  talk 
but  insists  on  doing  it  at  home. " 

"Wants  me  to  come  there,  eh?  Why?" 

"Says  she  has  to  be  there  because  of  the  fires  all 
around."  He  flashed  a  covert  look  at  the  other.  * 'I  told 
her  it  was  impossible  for  you  to  come. " 

"What  in  hell'd  you  say  that  for?  Rowe,  you're  a 
damned  fool.  Wants  me  to  come,  does  she?  By  God, 
I'll  run  that  rabbit  into  her  warren.  Get  a  car!  We'll 
be  there  in  time  to  curl  her  hair  for  her!" 

And  so  in  the  blue-gray  dawn  Rowe  took  the  old  man 
out  of  Pancake,  toward  the  forest  and  the  girl  who  had 
tossed  restlessly  through  the  night. 

Since  the  day  before  yesterday  she  had  been  in  turmoil. 
John  Taylor,  fighting  for  her,  fighting  with  his  fists, 
with  high  rage  for  her  enemies  in  his  face!  It  knocked  her 
assurance.  Could  that  fight  have  been  a  fraud?  she  asked 
herself,  and  for  the  moment  hoped  that  it  had  been  because 
such  truth  would  save  her  from  the  humiliation  of  doubting 
that  she  had  been  justified  in  sending  him  from  her  house. 
If  he  fought  for  her  now,  she  had  been  mistaken;  she  had 

323 


I 


324  TIMBER 

jumped  at  a  faulty  conclusion;  the  evidence  which  had 
seemed  so  weighty  against  him  was  not  above  question; 
she  had  been  wrong  when  she  sent  him  from  her.  Or  he 
might  have  been  her  enemy  and  have  broken  with  his 
conspirators  —  or  he  might  actually  be  helping  her  for 
some  unknown  reason  —  she  could  not  picture  him,  now, 
as  a  deliberate  plotter  against  her  well-being  — 

When  she  was  in  the  worst  of  this  bewilderment, 
Humphrey  Bryant  had  telephoned,  talking  of  other 
matters  rather  absently;  then  he  had  told  her  that  Taylor 
was  under  arrest,  that  his  arraignment  had  been  put  over 
a  day.  "They^re  fighting  among  themselves,"  he  said  as 
though,  perhaps,  he  doubted  that  explanation. 

Yesterday  she  had  watched  Luke  Taylor  in  her  forest, 
had  watched  his  restless  old  face  find  peace;  had  seen 
him  stop  and  touch  a  pine  trunk  with  all  the  affection  that 
a  man  could  put  into  a  gesture ;  had  heard  him  thank  his 
God  for  her  forest  —  His  hardness  had  melted  there  and 
inspiration  had  come  to  her. 

Black  Joe  had  come  in  from  the  mill  with  a  message 
for  Aunty  May;  she  had  only  half  listened  to  that  but 
before  he  turned  to  go  he  said: 

''They're  holdin'  young  Taylor  in  jail,  I  hear  —  I  told 
him," — with  a  twist  of  his  head  —  "Jim  Harris'd  get 
him  —  I  told  him;  he's  got  sand,  he  has,  but  not  much 
sense.  I'm  going  in  tomorrow  if  it  rains  an'  get  him  out." 

He  walked  away  and  Helen  tried  to  call  out  to  him, 
tried  to  make  herself  beg  for  an  explanation,  but  she  could 
not,  and  she  did  not  know  whether  fear  of  humiHation  or 
fear  that  the  light  hope  in  her  would  be  blasted  kept  her 
silent  — 

All  night  she  tossed,  hearing  the  clinking  of  Pauguk's 


TIMBER  325 

chain  as  the  wolf  dog  moved  restlessly  as  smoke  kept  her 
instinctive  fear  of  fire  aroused. 

She  was  up  before  dawn,  finishing  breakfast  as  light 
and  wind  grew  stronger  — 

John  Taylor  sprang  from  sound  sleep  in  his  cell.  The 
sheriff  was  unbolting  the  door  to  bring  in  a  plate  of  food. 

''When  are  you  fellows  going  to  give  me  a  chance  to  pay 
a  fine  and  get  out  of  here?  "  John  asked. 

'*In  a  rush?"  The  sheriff  tried  to  be  jocose. 

''I'm  about  as  crazy  to  get  out  as  Jim  Harris  is  to  keep 
me  in!"  the  other  burst  out.  "If  I'm  not  loose  today 
there'll  be  something  bitter  for  a  crowd  of  you  to  swallow! " 

The  genuineness  of  his  anger  shocked  the  officer. 

"You'll  be  took  care  of,"  he  said.  "The  judge'll  get 
around  about  nine,  I  expect." 

The  men  were  going  on  patrol.  Black  Joe,  glass  in  hand, 
descended  from  Watch  Pine,  shaking  his  head.  It  was  no 
use ;  he  could  not  see  forty  rods  through  the  smoke. 

Pauguk  stiffened,  ears  cocked  and  then  a  car  came 
through  the  murk  and  stopped  before  the  door  of  the  big 
house  and  Philip  Rowe  got  out  to  confront  Helen.  He 
removed  his  hat  and  bowed  stiffly;  his  bruised  lips  and 
swollen  eye  made  him  grotesque  and  the  smile  he  forced 
made  him  hideous. 

"Miss  Foraker,  Mr.  Luke  Taylor  is  here.'' 

She  looked  at  the  old  man,  getting  to  the  ground.  He 
leaned  heavily  on  his  stick  today;  he  was  stooped  and 
his  clothing  hung  loosely  about  his  withered  frame.  His 
thin  lips  were  parted  and  he  breathed  rapidly,  as  though 
this  were  great  effort. 


I 


326  TIMBER 

Here  stood  the  great  Luke  Taylor!  Here  stood  this 
arch  devastator,  this  man  who  had  made  waste  of  forests, 
this  man  who  had  been  ruthless  and  cruel  and  greedy; 
but  who  yesterday  had  wept  as  he  listened  to  a  bird 
singing  in  Foraker's  Folly! 

"You  may  come  in,"  she  said,  as  though  she  conferred 
a  measurable  favor. 

They  entered  the  living  room  silently.  Helen  turned 
an  arm  chair  to  face  her  desk  and  stood  by  it  while  Taylor, 
still  without  speaking,  moved  slowly  forward  and  seated 
himself  stiffly.  Then  she  turned  to  her  desk  and  sat 
down.  She  had  ignored  Rowe  completely;  she  rested  her 
hands  on  the  chair  arms  and  looked  directly  into  the  cold 
blue  eyes  of  the  old  man. 

However,  Rowe  was  the  first  of  the  three  to  speak. 

He  put  down  his  hat  and  drew  up  a  chair  for  himself. 
He  was  raging,  but  he  covered  that  rage;  his  case  was 
all  but  lost  and  he  fought  humiliation  and  anger  to  save 
what  he  might  of  the  ruin  of  his  hopes.  He  cleared  his 
throat  nervously. 

''In  our  first  talk.  Miss  Foraker,  I  outlined  Mr.  Taylor's 
wants.  I  tried  to  make  it  clear  that  we  were  willing  to 
pay  a  very  fair  figure  and  that  the  terms  would  be  such 
as  would  enable  you  to  realize  on  your  investment  and 
your  work." 

Helen  moved  ever  so  slightly  with  a  suggestion  of 
weariness,  and  folded  her  hands  as  though  this  was  some- 
thing that  must  be  endured. 

''Since  that  time  many  things  have  happened  which 
must  be  considered  factors  in  the  case.  It  is  to  be 
regretted  that  you  have  misunderstood  my  motives, 
and  have  seen  fit  to  think  that  Mr.  Taylor  comes  here 


TIMBER  327 

as  an  agressive,  unscrupulous  enemy.  He  comes  on  a 
straight  business  proposition." 

He  hitched  his  chair  forward,  indicating  that  after  this 
preamble  they  could  get  down  to  business.  He  started  to 
speak,  checked  himself  and  rubbed  his  palms  together, 
as  if  considering.  But  before  he  could  proceed  the  girl 
spoke.  Her  voice  was  low  and  she  directed  what  she  had 
to  say  at  Taylor  himself,  who  sat  eyeing  her  steadily. 

'*I  have  told  Mr.  Rowe  that  my  forest  was  not  for  sale. 
Evidently,  he  does  not  yet  understand.  I  did  not  ask 
you  here  today  to  talk  of  selling." 

^'Not  to  talk  selling!"   Rowe  cried.   "What  then?" 

Again  he  was  ignored  for  Helen  did  not  remove  her 
gaze  from  Luke  as  she  said:  "It  seems  that  I  have  few 
confidences  from  the  public.  Consequently,  there  are 
not  many  things  for  me  to  explain.  Mr.  Rowe,"  there 
was  in  the  name  the  slightest  amount  of  bitterness,  "has 
indicated  that  I  need  help  and  that  there  is  no  help  in 
sight.  He  is  right,  quite  largely.  That  is  why  I  wanted  to 
talk  to  you  today,  Mr.  Taylor.  I  need  help.  I  want  you 
to  help  me." 

Luke's  start  was  confined  to  the  change  in  his  eyes; 
they  blinked  once  and  in  that  blink  their  absorption  gave 
way  to  amazement. 

"To  help  ?/owf  "  cried  Rowe  derisively. 

Then  for  the  first  time  the  girl  turned  to  him.  "Yes, 
Mr.  Rowe;  you  appear  to  understand." 

"I  don't  imderstand  at  all!  You  say  you  are  determined 
not  to  sell;  yet  you  are  asking  Mr.  Taylor  for  help!" 

The  girl  looked  at  Luke  as  though  she  hoped  he  would 
speak,  giving  her  an  opportunity  to  put  her  proposal 
directly  to  him,  not  through  Rowe;    but  the  old  man 


I 


328  TIMBER 

sat  with  chin  drawn  against  his  chest.  His  eyes  still 
showed  amazement  and  in  their  depths  was  a  gleam  that 
might  have  been  admiration  —  as  he  would  have  admired 
while  he  planned  to  undo  a  man  who  had  braved  his  wrath. 
Still,  he  did  not  speak  and  after  a  moment  Helen  addressed 
Rowe. 

*'I  don't  want  to  sell.  I  want  Mr.  Taylor  to  give  me 
the  help  I  need  so  I  will  not  be  forced  to  sell.  I  have 
come  to  a  parting  of  the  ways.  I  can  no  longer  go  on  with 
my  present  resources;  the  financial  situation  is  against 
me.  My  property  is  not  taking  care  of  itself  yet;  obliga- 
tions are  due;  I  have  suffered  the  loss  of  my  water-power, 
which  cuts  off  all  my  income  and  repairs  mean  an  outlay 
of  money  at  once." 

"And  you  ask  Mr.  Taylor  to  help  in  this  hair-brained 
adventure?  " 

"I  ask  his  help  in  carrying  my  pine  until  the  investment 
is  ripe,  so  I  may  follow  through  a  plan  which  has  been 
followed  for  nearly  fifty  years  and  needs  a  few  years 
more.  '^ 

Rowe  sat  back  with  a  whiff  of  amazement.  He  looked 
at  Luke  and  smiled,  but  the  old  man  did  not  respond. 
His  eyes  were  still  on  the  girl's  face. 

Rowe  touched  his  bruised  lips  absently.  "That's 
amusing,"  sardonically.  "Quite  amusing,  Miss  Foraker. 
Quite  the  most  preposterous  request  I  have  ever  heard 
made!" 

"It  is  unusual,  I  understand.  Mr  Taylor  seems  to  be 
my  last  chance.  I  —  I  don't  care  much  about  asking 
this  of  him, "  with  a  slight  hesitancy. 

"This  is  so  amusing  that  it's  interesting,"  said  Rowe.  "  I 
take  it  you  want  a  loan.    How  much  —  and  for  how  long?  " 


TIMBER  320 

"I  don't  know." 

^' Don't   know!" 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Only  in  a  general  way.  It  depends 
on  what  happens  to  me  and  to  the  lumber  market.  I  need 
thirty  thousand  dollars  at  once.  That  is  to  take  care  of  a 
mortgage  coming  due  and  rebuild  my  dam  and  give  me 
a  small  working  capital.  I  may  need  as  much  more  next 
spring;  perhaps  a  greater  amount.  If  my  taxes  are 
increased  as  the  township  officers  have  the  authority  to 
increase  them  under  the  present  law,  I  will  need  help 
there.  I  will  need  loans  from  time  to  time  until  I  can 
begin  to  make  my  regular  turn-over  —  until  I  can  start 
with  a  full  annual  cutting  budget." 

"A  what?  Oh,  and  then  you  do  plan  to  cut  this  timber, 
sometime!    When,  Miss  Foraker?" 

'*I  can't  teU  you  that  exactly.  It  depends  on  market 
values  and  interest  rates  and  how  much  capital  I  must 
put  in  —  The  cut  begins  when  the  stumpage  value  on 
approximately  two  hundred  acres  of  timber  is  equal  to 
the  current  carrying  charges. " 

Rowe  drew  a  hand  back  over  his  sleek  hair.  "Why 
the  two  hundred  when  you  have  ten  thousand?  "  he  asked. 
"You're  sure  of  decent  prices  now  and  —  you  don't  know 
how  many  more  risks  you  will  have  to  run  in  the  future  — 
risks  and  difficulties  and  unpleasant  circumstances,  Miss 
Foraker.  Our  proposition  is  to  take  over  the  whole  block; 
we're  not  interested  in  a  little  fraction.  Why  the  two 
hundred,  if  I  may  ask?" 

"Because  I'm  trying  to  establish  a  forest  business,  Mr. 
Rowe,  a  forest  business  in  which  the  annual  income  meets 
carrying  charges  and  gradually  amortizes  the  capital 
investment. " 


330  TIMBER 

She  waited.  Rowe  frowned.  Luke  blinked  again.  She 
sighed  briefly,  as  though  this  bored  her. 

*'A  pecuHar  business,"  Rowe  laughed,  'Hhat  heads 
straight  into  bankruptcy  for  the  sake  of  an  abstract  idea. " 

*'Is  it  peculiar  business  to  keep  the  capital  invested 
well  invested?  Or  to  expect  that  the  business  should 
yield  fair  returns  on  the  capital,  Mr.  Rowe?  Is  it  unusual 
when  the  early  period  of  a  new  business  requires  increasing 
investments  with  a  growing  burden  of  compounding 
interest,  all  of  which  are  returned  and  multiplied  when 
the  business  becomes  established  and  its  turn-over 
regular?" 

*' Theory,  Miss  Foraker.  You're  trying  to  apply  very 
fine-sounding  phrases  to  an  enterprise  which  hasn't 
been  proven.  A  real  business  does  not  refuse  to  sell  its 
products  when  they're  ready  for  market  and  when  the 
firm  is  embarrassed  by  the  demands  of  its  creditors,  you 
know. " 

"Nor  does  a  factory  sell  its  unfinished  products,  Mr. 
Rowe.  My  timber  is  merchantable,  but  it  is  not  ripe. 
If  you  were  a  stock  grower  and  owned  a  good  calf  which 
might  bring  ten  dollars  for  veal,  you  would  resent  it  if 
some  one  insisted  that  you  sell  when  you  knew  that  by 
keeping  the  calf  until  it  matured,  even  though  it  cost  you 
for  care  and  feed  and  involved  risk,  it  would  bring  ten  or 
twenty  times  that  price  as  a  pure-bred  cow.  I'm  in  the 
position  of  such  a  stock  grower.  My  volume  growth  of 
timber  is  increasing,  increasing  faster  than  the  carrying 
charges,  and  real  quality  increment  has  just  commenced 
to  show.  What  are  northern  pine  uppers  quoted  at  now, 
Mr.  Rowe?  Then  there  is  the  increment  of  price  due  to 
the  national  timber  shortage  which  sent  white  pine  from 


TIMBER  331 

twenty-five  dollars  a  thousand  to  over  two  hundred  and 
fifty.  What  average  annual  per  cent  of  increase  does  that 
represent?  And  do  you  see  any  signs  yet  that  the  up-curve 
is  flattening  out?  And  why  is  it  unreasonable  for  me  to 
consider  these  things  in  my  forest  business?  " 

When  she  began  this  argument  Howe's  eyes  had  strayed 
out  the  window,  as  if  watching  for  an  arrival;  he  turned 
his  head  as  though  listening  for  an  anticipated  sound, 
but  when  she  stopped  Luke  Taylor  gave  a  slight  twitching 
gesture  to  one  hand  and  his  secretary  plucked  at  a  crease 
in  his  pant  leg  and  attempted  a  superior  smile,  unconvinc- 
ing because  of  the  confusion  growing  in  his  eyes. 

"The  head  of  the  class,  Miss  Foraker,"  with  an  ironic 
nod.  "But  quite  a  long  ways  from  our  proposition.  To 
get  back  where  we  started;  what  stumpage  value  do  you 
place  on  the  whole  block?" 

Helen  sighed  sharply  and  looked  again  at  Luke.  His 
cold  eyes  were  on  her,  lighted  with  something  that  might 
have  been  interest,  that  might  as  well  have  been  scorn. 

"I  have  tried  to  tell  you  that  this  business  is  not  for 
sale.  No  offer  would  be  satisfactory,  but  I  shall  soon  have 
timber  for  sale,  about  two  hundred  acres  each  year.  I  will 
want  to  harvest  it  myself,  of  course,  because  no  one  else 
would  understand  the  job,  any  more  than  a  stranger 
could  successfully  handle  another  man's  farm  without 
making  mistakes.  The  stumpage  value  should  come  to 
around  twenty  dollars  a  thousand.  Your  cruiser  has 
reported  on  that,  beyond  a  doubt,  and  it  will  increase  as 
the  output  becomes  steady  and  special  markets  are 
developed. " 

"You  can't  get  away  from  that  idea  of  continuous 
output,  can  you?  Honestly,  considering  everything,  what 


I 


332  TIMBER 

youVe  been  through,  what  you're  going  through  right 
now,  do  you  think  it  practical?'' 

"I  am  as  insistent  on  it  as  you  are  on  scaring  me.  I 
know  what  you've  been  up  to,  you  and  your  friends. 
You've  backed  me  into  a  corner.  There's  no  place  to 
turn  and  that  is  why  I  have  to  come  to  you,  Mr.  Taylor, 
for  help." 

She  turned  to  address  Luke,  hands  on  her  chair  arms, 
leaning  forward  eagerly.  He  did  not  change  a  muscle, 
a  line  of  expression;  he  waited,  and  Howe  waited.  Her 
voice  was  not  so  steady  when  she  started  in  again: 

"When  we  commence  to  turn  over,  Mr.  Taylor,  we 
should  produce  about  four  million  feet  a  year  —  indefi- 
nitely. But  from  the  time  the  cutting  starts  there  will  be 
an  increasing  amount  for  fifty  years  because  each  year, 
for  fifty  years,  there  will  be  another  year's  growth  on 
the  balance  of  the  stand,  until  the  last  cut  of  the  first 
rotation  would  be  a  hundred  years  old.  That  would 
be  very  nice  pine,  Mr.  Taylor,  even  compared  to  the  pine 
you  cut  yourself  in  Michigan — " 

The  old  man's  mouth  worked  briefly  and  he  swallowed; 
otherwise,  no  movement. 

"And  during  all  those  years  there  will  be  a  steady 
pick-up  in  quality.  Dense  pine  cleans  itself  fast  after 
fifty  years  —  and  we  will  be  near  the  peak  of  the  national 
shortage,  then.  There  should  be  prices,  Mr.  Taylor  — 
big  prices,  to  say  nothing  of  the  need  it  will  fill  —  When 
the  last  block  of  the  hundred-year-old  pine  was  going 
through  the  mill  the  first  block  will  be  back  again,  fifty 
years  old  and  ready,  and  from  then  on  there  would  always 
be  a  fifty-year-old  lot  ready  for  the  saw  —  always,  Mr. 
Taylor  —  always  —  every  year! " 


TIMBER  a33 

She  brought  a  fist  down  on  her  chair  arm  and  shifted 
her  position  slightly.   In  the  pause,  Rowe  stirred. 

"And  every  year  the  interest  keeps  piling  up,  and  the 
risks  —  YouVe  really  considered  the  risks,  Miss  Foraker, 
or  do  you  just  talk  about  them?'* 

''Risks!"  she  cried  in  contempt.  ''I've  lived  with 
risks  since  I  can  remember,  Mr.  Rowe.  Lived  with  risks 
from  fire  to  moles  —  and  other  underground  workers ! 
Because  of  those  risks  I  must  provide  the  forest  with 
a  margin  of  safety,  as  in  any  other  business.  My 
margin  of  safety  is  in  the  quaUty  growth  and  increasing 
markets.  If  I  cut  too  soon,  I  cancel  my  insurance  of  a 
future;  I  can't  cut  now  and  keep  my  capital  intact. 
I  will  not  do  either  because  there  is  a  chance  for  help  left. 
Mr.  Taylor  is  that  chance.  He  could  carry  my  pine  until 
it  is  self-supporting;  that  will  be  only  a  few  years,  and 
then  —  forever  after — " 

She  stopped  speaking,  for  her  voice  had  tightened. 

Rowe  spoke  again:  " Foraker 's  Folly!  It  seems  to  have 
been  well  named!  Continuous  crops  from  the  same  soil 
without  putting  anything  back?  That's  considered  bad 
business  in  agriculture.  Anyhow,  pine  won't  follow  pine. 
Or  will  it,  according  to  your  unproven  theories?" 

The  girl  looked  at  him  again,  forcing  herself  to  remain 
patient. 

"I  am  reasonably  confident  it  will,  Mr.  Rowe,  and 
quite  sure  that  the  soil  will  hold  up.  You  see,  ninety- 
seven  per  cent  of  pine  cellulose  comes  from  the  air  instead 
of  the  soil.  If  you  won't  take  my  word,  I  can  show  you," 
gesturing  toward  the  shelves  of  books.  "Properly  tended 
forest  soil  gets  better  for  —  well,  for  at  least  a  good  many 
years.    Do  you  know  of  the  Sihlwald  at  Zurick,  for 


334  TIMBER 

instance,  Mr.  Rowe?  Of  course,  the  Swiss  may  be  wrong; 
they've  only  been  growing  timber  on  the  same  land  for 
six  or  seven  centuries,"  looking  down  at  her  hands 
demurely. 

''Pine  trees  produce  pine  seed  and  that  seed  will  grow 
more  pine  trees.  My  books  show  that  we  netted  over  a 
thousand  dollars  on  seed  harvested  and  sold  to  the 
commercial  nurseries  last  year.  I  hope  that  this  item 
will  almost  offset  the  cost  of  growing  our  own  seedlings 
and  replanting  when  we're  finally  under  way." 

Rowe's  color  was  rising.  He  was  conscious  that  Luke 
was  looking  at  him.  He  was  out  of  his  depth,  challenging 
statements  which  concerned  facts  new  to  him;  he  was 
losing  his  temper.  But  it  was  win  or  lose,  now!  This 
was  the  thing  for  which  he  had  come  to  Pancake:  to  cow 
this  girl.  If  he  lost  in  this  interview,  he  would  lose  his 
standing  with  Luke  and  with  that,  all  that  he  desired 
would  go,  as  well! 

''This  gets  better  and  better,"  he  remarked  sarcasti- 
cally. "You  are  asking  Mr.  Taylor  for  help  and  you  don't 
know  how  much  you  need  or  how  long  you  will  need  it. 
And  you're  asking  this  because  somebody  has  done  some- 
thing somewhere  else.  Do  you  actually  know  your 
capital  investment.  Miss  Foraker?" 

"Mr.  Taylor  may  check  my  books.  They  are  complete, 
from  the  time  my  father  began." 

"In  due  season,  perhaps,  should  he  have  —  any  curi- 
osity." He  waved  his  hand,  trying  to  be  casual  in  his 
desperation.  He  could  not  stop,  now.  Luke  was  watching 
him,  the  eyes  of  the  girl  challenged  him.  He  blundered  on. 

"Your  whole  proposition  is  hinged  on  higher  prices 
and  a  purely  hypothetical  timber  shortage.   In  six  months 


TIMBER  335 

the  lumber  market  will  be  busted  flat.  I  suppose  you'll 
resurrect  the  Lumber  Trust  and  ignore  the  billions  of 
feet  left  in  the  South  and  the  thousands  of  billions  out  on 
the  Coast.   What  about  that,  for  instance?" 

"There  is  timber  —  billions  of  feet.  There  was  once  in 
Michigan.  Perhaps  Mr.  Taylor  used  to  think  there  was 
enough  here  to  last  forever.  Perhaps  he  had  friends  who 
moved  into  the  southern  pineries  and  who  are  junking 
their  mills  now  and  getting  ready  to  move  into  the  Pacific 
Coast  States.  The  market  may  slump;  everything  is 
going  to  slump  for  a  time;  it's  natural  reaction  — 

''But  the  timber  is  going  and  in  New  England  they're 
sawing  box  wood  out  of  pine  trees  that  stand  in  fields 
which  were  cultivated  at  the  time  of  the  Civil  War. 
Your  shoes,  your  clothes  probably  were  shipped  to  Detroit 
in  boxes  made  of  that  stuff.  Why?  Because  it's  grown  on 
the  ground  and  the  manufacturers  are  tired  of  paying 
freight  rates  on  material.  Why,  I  can  raise  and  sell 
white  pine  at  Buffalo  for  less  than  the  freight  alone  on 
Oregon  fir  and  — " 

''Oh,  freight  rates!  A  socialistic  mess!  They'll  come 
down;  and  besides,  you've  just  admitted  that  there  is 
timber  —  timber  in  Canada  and  all  sorts  of  places. 
Now  let's  quit  this  and  get  down  to  our  proposition. 
Will  you—" 

Luke  stirred  and  hitched  himself  nearly  erect. 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Rowe!  When  you  don't  make  a  fool  of 
yourself  with  your  questions,  this  young  woman  does 
with  her  answers!" 

A  moment  of  silence  while  Luke  glared  at  Rowe.  To 
ridicule  and  curse  had  been  habitual,  but  now  there  was 
something  new  in  his  face,  a  fresh  bitterness,  a  disdain, 


336  TIMBER 

a  fading  trust,  that  made  the  other  go  cold.  The  old 
man  turned  to  the  girl,  and  his  gesture  marked  the 
collapse  of  years  of  scheming  and  service  and  hope  that 
Philip  Rowe  had  erected. 

*' You've  been  talkin'  a  lot  of  moonshine!"  Luke  said 
sharply.  ''Like  th'  rest  of  your  doddy  generation  — 
Moonshine!  But  you  make  a  case,  th'  sort  of  case  that'd 
convince  a  lot  of  old  women!"  He  ran  a  hand  over  his 
chin  and  his  eyes  flashed. 

''You  need  money  all  right.  It'd  do  you  no  good  to 
deny  that  and  try  to  bluff  me,  but  you've  got  your  cheek, 
comin'  to  me  for  help!" 

Helen's  head  was  dropped  forward  a  bit,  arms  folded. 
She  did  not  flinch  as  he  made  the  charge.  Her  eyes,  very 
somber,  gave  him  stare  for  stare.  "You  are  the  only 
man  I  know  who  can  realize  the  value  —  and  who  has 
the  money.  That  is  why  I  come  to  you.  I  would  rather 
go  somewhere  else  —  but  there  is  no  choice. " 

"You're  high  an'  mighty  for  a  begger!"  he  scoffed. 
"You're  brazen!" 

"I  am  only  saying  what  I  think,  as  you  are." 

He  rubbed  his  chin  again  and  his  lips  worked. 

"And  what  makes  you  think  you've  got  a  chance  with 
me?"  he  burst  out.  "I  don't  want  to  back  you.  I  want 
this  stuff  myself.  That's  why  I  sent  Rowe  up  here,  to 
make  a  bargain.  I  come  to  buy  somethin'  an'  you're 
in  a  pinch,  where  you've  got  to  sell;  I  offered  to  do  th' 
right  thing  an'  by  the  Lord  Harry  you  won't  listen  —  but 
come  askin'  favors  from  me ! "   His  brittle  voice  was  louder. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Taylor,  that  is  it.  I  do  not  want  to  sell,  so 
I  ask  you  to  help  me  past  the  point  where  I  might  be 
forced  to  sell." 


TIMBER  337 

He  sat  back,  tapping  the  chair  arms  briskl}^  with  his 
pahns.  *'You  have  got  cheek!  Cheek?  —  Never  seen  it 
before! 

*'  You  won't  Hsten  to  me  when  I  want  to  buy,  but  expect 
me  to  hsten  to  you  when  you  want  my  money  —  an' 
after  you've  filled  that  young  cub's  head  full  of  moonshine 
an'  turned  him  against  his  father  —  after  I  thought  I'd 
found  something  in  him!"  He  lifted  his  hand  and  a 
quick  flush  came  into  Helen's  cheeks  and  Rowe,  watching 
her,  detected  something  that  was  almost  fright  in  her 
expression.  "I  sent  him  up  here,  a  worthless  cub;  he 
makes  good,  where  I'd  've  said  nobody  could  make  good. 
He  makes  a  fine  start  an'  for  th'  first  time  since  he  was 
a  kid  I  was  —  proud  of  him.  And  then  you  pumped  moon- 
shine into  him  until  his  head's  addled.  He  called  on  me 
for  backin'  in  some  pine  deal  and  gets  me  all  worked  up! 
I  send  Rowe  here  to  investigate  and  find  that  th'  cub 
don't  want  to  buy,  but  wants  to  invest  in  your  damned 
moonshine!"  He  was  gripping  the  chair  arms  now, 
leaning  forward,  and  his  eyes  were  very  pale  against 
the  dark  mask  of  his  anger. 

''He's  so  full  of  your  theories  that  he  don't  even  expect 
he'll  have  trouble  in  convincing  me  —  a  practical  man. 
And  then  when  he  finds  out  I  won't  have  it,  that  I  won't 
back  him,  what  does  he  do?  He  stands  in  my  way,  by 
damn!  He  fights  his  own  father  when  he  tries  to  buy  this 
Pine!  He  tries  to  do  me  at  every  turn  so  's  to  help  you, 
and  ends  up  in  jail  because  he  beats  up  my  —  my  book- 
keeper!" He  spat  out  the  last  words  venomously  as  he 
glared  at  Rowe. 

One  of  the  girl's  hands  went  slowly  to  her  breast  and 
she  made  a«  if  to  rise  from  her  chair.  Her  lips  were  parte<i 


338  TIMBER 

and  the  flush  which  had  gone  into  her  cheeks  drained 
until  they  were  parchment  white.  "Not  that,"  she  said 
weakly. 

"Just  that!"  The  old  man's  voice  was  a  rasp.  "He's 
fought  me  to  a  standstill!  He's  fought  me  because  you 
pumped  him  full  of  your  damned  moonshine,  but  that 
can't  stop  me  —  Nothin'  can  stop  me  now.  I've  had  every- 
thing I've  ever  wanted  until  now.  I  want  this  Pine  and 
you  can't  stop  me!" 

She  had  settled  back  to  her  chair  and  sickness  swept 
through  her  —  and  a  rebound  of  great  strength  —  and 
then  fresh  dismay  —  His  words  rang  in  her  ears  as  she 
drove  back  the  tumult,  crowding  all  the  conflicting  factors 
out  of  her  consciousness,  laying  bare  this  one  problem.  She 
rose  and  spoke: 

"You  have  had  everything  you  wanted,  Mr.  Taylor?  — 
Until  now?  —  And  so  have  I.  But  it  happens  now  that 
we  both  want  the  same  thing.  I  want  it  and  you  want 
it,  but  I  am  not  going  to  let  you  have  it,  and  you  are 
going  to  let  me  keep  it,  safe  —  always. " 

"Eh?"  He  was  stung  by  her  confidence.  "I'm  going 
to  help   you!     How's    that?     What  makes  you  think 

"Thi^,"  she  said  simply.  "You  think  you  have  had 
everything  you  ever  wanted.  That  is  not  so.  You  have 
missed  the  biggest  thing,  Mr.  Taylor;  you  have  missed 
contentment. "  She  was  holding  to  the  edge  of  her  desk 
with  one  hand  to  keep  her  body  steady;  she  spoke  slowly, 
so  her  voice  would  be  clear;  her  heart  seemed  to  have 
been  stopped. 

"I  never  saw  you  before  yesterday,  but  I  know  a  great 
deal  about  you.    Men  still  tell  stories  of  your  camps. 


TIMBER  339 

I  had  a  man  here  only  two  years  ago  who  worked  with 
you  on  the  Saginaw.  Your  —  your  son  has  told  me 
about  you. 

*'Your  —  your  bookkeeper,  here,  told  me  in  our  first 
talk  that  you  wanted  this  pine,  because  —  well,  not  for 
the  money.  You  want  it  because  it  will  take  you  back  to 
those  days  when  you  were  happier,  when  you  thought 
you  were  contented — " 

"Darned  moonshine!  —  Moonshine,  like  the  rest!" 

"No,  Mr.  Taylor."  She  did  not  Uft  her  voice  beyond 
its  low  pitch.  "My  father  felt  the  same  way;  all  you 
men  who  logged  off  Michigan  pine  lands  felt  lost  when  the 
last  drive  went  down  —  I  know  —  I  was  a  little  girl  with 
them.  And  I  saw  you,  yesterday,  walking  in  my  forest, 
walking  in  Michigan  white  pine.  I  think  I  know  something 
of  how  you  felt  — " 

His  eyes  fell  away  from  her  face;  then  flashed  back. 
She  took  a  step  nearer  him. 

"They're  gone,  the  old  Michigan  stands,  Mr.  Taylor, 
but  there's  a  new  forest  coming  on,  here  —  we're  in  the 
heart  of  it.  If  I  should  sell  to  you  and  you  should  run 
twenty  million  a  year,  which  was  big  those  days,  but  isn't 
now  —  Foraker's  Folly  wouldn't  last  long.  But  if  we 
go  through  with  my  father's  plan  —  you  and  I  —  we 
can  cut  four  million  and  up  a  year  —  forever. " 

"Moonshine!    It's—" 

"No,  it  isn't  a  dream,  Mr.  Taylor!"  voice  lifting.  "It's 
real!  It's  as  real  as  those  trees  outside  my  house!  The 
last  faller  hasn't  cried,  '  Timber!'  for  the  last  Michigan 
white  pine!  We  haven't  seen  the  last  of  it  going  down 
iced  roads  to  the  dumps;  we  haven't  seen  the  Blueberry 
bank-full  in  the  winter  time  with  white  pine  logs  for 


340  TIMBER 

the  last  time!  We  haven't  seen  the  last  driv^e;  we 
haven't  heard  the  last  pine  log  going  against  a  saw  here 
in  Michigan;  we  haven't  seen  the  last  pond  full  of  them, 
floating  fine  and  high  —  cork  pine,  Mr.  Taylor  —  with 
the  sun  bringing  on  the  resin  blisters  on  them  so  you 
can  smell  it  —  as  you  can  smell  the  new  lumber  in  the 
yard  ; —  and  the  big  pile  of  fine  sawdust  — " 

She  paused  and  the  uneasy  wind  soughed  in  the  tops 
outside.  The  girl  smiled,  lips  tremulous,  as  though  tears 
smarted  at  her  eyes.  "It  isn't  a  big  operation,  Mr.  Taylor, 
but  it  will  go  on  and  on  forever!  There'll  never  be  a 
Michigan  man  who  is  lonesome  for  white  pine  who  can't 
walk  through  a  stand  of  it,  who  can't  watch  'em  creeping 
up  the  slide,  who  can't  feel  the  corks  in  his  boots  biting 
into  the  bark  —  if  he  wants  to  —  It  could  be  wiped  out 
in  a  very  few  winters,  Mr.  Taylor.  I  want  it  to  go  on 
forever  — " 

She  clasped  her  hands  lightly  before  her  and  looked 
down  on  him  with  that  sweet,  confident  smile.  She  saw 
the  amazement  in  his  face,  the  mist  in  his  eyes.  She  saw 
him  swallow,  and  then  he  snapped:  "Damn  moonshine, 
I  tell  you!   Damn—" 

Outside,  Pauguk  whined  sharply.  A  shout.  A  horse 
galloping.  Black  Joe  ran  past  the  house  calling  a  question 
to  the  patrolman  who  rode  out  of  the  smoke. 

"For  God's  sake  get  out  there!  It's  south  of  the  old 
cranberry  marsh  in  the  timber  and  comin'  like  hell. 
Somebody  smashed  the  telephone  so  I  couldn't  call!" 

For  a  moment  the  girl  poised  before  Luke  Taylor. 
Then  fright  came  into  her  eyes  and  she  ran  out  the  door. 
Phil  Rowe  started  and  turned  and  smiled  —  as  though 
he  had  suddenly  remembered  some  pleasurable  thing. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

Bobby  Kildare  ran  shrieking  across  the  dooryard  to 
the  big  bell  and  began  ringing  furiously.  In  the  garage 
Joe  and  the  cook  lowered  the  platform  of  fire  extinguishers 
to  the  car  and  clamped  it  fast.  Helen  was  on  the  driver's 
seat,  waiting  for  Aimty  May  who  hurried  toward  her. 

"Thone  Raymer  at  the  mill  to  turn  out  everybody. 
Keep  Bobby  ringing  and  Milt  will  hear  the  bell.  Tell  him 
to  send  all  men  to  me  on  lot  eighteen  —  eighteen  — 
south  of  the  old  cranberry  marsh.  Remember  that: 
Eighteen,  south  of  the  marsh."  She  spoke  slowly  and 
very  distinctly. 

"Have  Milt  get  Sim  Bums  on  the  wire  and  make  him 
come  here  with  men.  Threaten  him  if  he  tries  to  lie  down. 
You  stay  by  the  telephone  when  he  is  through  ahd  get 
Humphrey  Bryant  and  have  him  send  help  from  Pancake, 
if  we  send  word  to  you  we  need  it. 

'^ All  ready,  Joe?'' 

"Let  her  go!" 

The  motor  spun;  the  exhaust  roared  in  the  small 
building;  the  car  shot  forward  and  careening  drunkenly 
rounded  the  house,  throwing  sand  from  the  ruts  and 
rocking  the  chemical  tanks  on  its  platform.  With  throttle 
open  to  the  last  notch  the  girl,  heart  racing  with  her 
motor,  tore  into  the  murk,  the  smell  of  burning  pine 
growing  strong  in  her  nostrils.  They  crossed  the  pole 
bridge  that  spanned  the  river  with  a  bouncing  and  a 
terrific  clatter,  due  west,  then  north,  slowing  on  the  turns, 

341 


342  TIMBER 

into  denser  smoke  with  each  rod  traveled;  to  the  west- 
ward again  and  Helen  fancied  she  could  feel  the  heat  of 
burning  wood  in  her  face. 

"There  she  is!''   cried  Joe. 

The  brakes  set  and  the  car  stopped  in  twice  its  length. 

They  were  on  the  ground  in  an  instant.  Beauchamp 
and  Joe  tugging  at  the  chemical  tanks,  running  forward 
along  the  north-and-south  fire  line  and  then  plunging  into 
the  forest  to  meet  the  advancing  flames.  A  muffled 
shouting  behind  them;  a  thwacking  of  a  stick  on  flesh, 
and  a  patrolman  galloped  up,  bringing  his  apparatus. 

"Get  in  there,  Thatcher,"  Helen  said  shortly.  "There 
are  three  others.   Take  two  tanks." 

A  brass  cylinder  in  either  hand  the  man  sped  away,  the 
girl  behind  him.  The  flames  had  started  from  the  western 
boundary  of  the  forest  and  on  this  fire  line,  a  half  mile 
in,  they  could  feel  their  heat,  could  hear  the  snap  and 
crackle.  The  smoke  smarted  the  girPs  eyes  as  she  ran 
forward;   it  bit  her  throat  and  lungs  and  nostrils. 

The  forest  was  a  weird  company  of  indistinct  tree 
trunks,  the  nearest  swathed  in  flowing  smoke,  those  a 
rod  away  barely  distinguishable.  A  figure  moved  before 
Helen,  crouched,  going  slowly  toward  the  north:  Black 
Joe  his  tank  upended  and  nozzle  playing  on  the  angry 
tongues  of  red  flame  licking  along  the  ground,  feeding 
on  dead  needles  and  duff,  going  swiftly  up  the  stems  of 
small  brush,  leaping  here  and  there  for  a  hold  on  a  tree 
trunk,  falling  back,  trying  again  —  the  spit  of  the 
chemical  blotted  tongues  out,  the  duff  yielded  dense 
smoke  instead  of  flame,  the  fire  sputtered  angrily  as  it 
was  torn  loose  from  its  hold  on  firm  wood  — 

She  moved  beside  Black  Joe  without  speaking,  straining 


TIMBER  343 

her  eyes,  listening.  She  heard  a  shout  from  beyond  and 
a  voice  lifted  in  quick  answer.  The  tank  sputtered  and 
went  dead.  Joe  ran  back  and  came  with  the  other  fresh 
one  he  had  brought  from  the  car;  but  before  it  could 
go  into  play  the  flames  that  he  had  beaten  down  had  found 
hold  again.  Their  roots  were  deep  in  that  pitchy  duff  and 
he  was  forced  to  fight  a  second  time  for  ground  he  had 
already  won. 

The  girl  left  him  and  went  on.  The  fire  was  advanc- 
ing from  west  to  east,  spreading  north  and  south  in  a 
fan-shaped  area  as  the  wind  drove  it  on.  She  passed 
Beauchamp,  who  coughed  as  he  told  her  that  he,  too, 
had  emptied  a  tank  and  was  covering  the  same  ground 
for  a  second  time.  She  came  on  the  patrolman  who  had 
reported  the  fire. 

All  along  she  could  see  those  hungry,  reaching  tongues. 
One  had  found  hold  on  a  dead  branch  six  feet  up  a  tree 
and  was  waxing  stalwart  on  the  secreted  pitch.  She  seized 
a  stick  and  beat  it  out,  shielding  her  face  from  the  heat 
with  the  other  arm  —  and  ran  on,  to  see  flames  crawling 
up  other  trees,  like  nimble  devils. 

She  heard  a  horse  snorting  loudly  as  he  came  near  with 
a  cart  of  tanks  and,  a  working  idea  of  the  size  and  progress 
of  the  fire  in  her  mind,  she  stumbled  back  to  join  the 
fighters  who  gathered  about. 

*' Joe,  Thatcher,  Beauchamp;  you  handle  the  chemicals. 
rU  refill.  You,"  to  the  other  patrolman,  ''bring  in  the 
empties  and  take  out  live  ones.  Make  every  pint  count. 
It*s  hot  and  running  fast." 

As  she  tore  the  lid  from  the  cask  of  soda  and  opened 
the  water  keg,  she  planned  her  battle;  three  men  to 
fight,  one  man  to  carry.    A  tank  was  not  good  for  more 


344  TIMBER 

than  a  hundred  feet  of  fire  front  in  this  heat.  Three 
hundred  feet  —  She  shook  her  head.    She  needed  help! 

Another  patrohnan  brought  his  lathered  horse  to  a  stop. 

"It's  all  in  this  block/'  Helen  said,  without  stopping 
her  work.  "Take  your  apparatus  straight  ahead.  You'll 
stay  in  this  east-and-west  line.  The  fire  will  be  north  of 
you  and  your  job  is  to  keep  this  flank  from  crossing 
the  line.   You'll  have  help  as  soon  as  I  can  spare  men." 

The  man  yelled  at  his  horse.  The  frightened  animal 
was  trying  to  back  and  turn  and  had  no  terror  of  the 
whip.  Helen  seized  the  bridle  and  led  him  forward,  then 
sprang  aside  as  he  lurched  on.  Her  helper  emerged. 
His  eyebrows  were  gone,  she  saw.  He  peered  close  into 
her  face,  fright  stamped  on  his  features  and  stared  so  a 
moment  before  he  gasped: 

"They  can't  hold  it.  Soon's  they  get  it  knocked 
down  —  the  wind  —  the  wind  throws  her  along  again." 

The  crackle  and  pop  of  burning  wood  was  louder, 
nearer,  the  heat  more  intense,  smoke  thicker  —  greenish, 
yellow  smoke,  coming  in  puffs  that  spread  about  her  and 
swirled  and  clung  to  the  ground  and  then  shot  upward  — 
or  rolled  along  among  l^he  trees. 

Black  Joe  came  on  a  run. 

"It's  hotter  'n  th'  hubs  of  heU!  It'll  go  into  the  tops 
if  we  don't  kill  it  —  and  up  there  once,  she'll  go  clear  to 
th'  river!" 

"I  know,  Joe.  Listen!"  From  afar  off  a  feeble,  thin 
cry  came  through  the  confusion  of  heavier  sounds:  the 
wail  of  an  automobile  siren. 

It  rose  and  fell,  approached  and  receded  in  the  face 
of  fire  sounds,  but  it  was  constant  and  seemed  to  be 
ghrieking   a   warning   in   words:  "Git   outta   the   way! 


TIMBER  S46 

We're  a-comin' —  we're  a-comin' —  we  couldn't  stop  if 
we  wanted  to  —  we're  a-comin' — a-comin' — now!'^ 

"That's  Raymer  and  help!"  the  girl  cried  and  laughed 
excitedly. 

They  came  clanking  through  the  smoke,  Raymer  and 
Goddard,  Thad  Parker  and  four  others  from  the  mill. 
They  clustered  about  the  girl,  but  before  they  could 
question,  she  was  giving  orders.  One  by  one  she  assigned 
them  to  their  work,  Goddard  with  a  crew  to  backfire  from 
the  next  fire  line  eastward.  Black  Joe  to  go  on  a  horse 
and  circle  the  entire  burning  area.  Raymer  to  the  northern 
flank.  They  scattered  and  Helen,  relieved  of  actual 
labor,  turned  her  car  about  and  drove  back  a  half  mile 
to  a  vantage  point. 

The  snapping  became  sharp  reports,  like  pistol  shots. 
A  freakish  wind,  set  up  by  the  rising  heat,  eddied  about, 
slapping  downward  and  up,  this  way  and  that,  scattering 
brands  as  it  went.  For  a  moment  a  strange  silence,  then 
the  popping  again.  Along  the  line  of  advancing  fire  the 
men  worked,  shirts  smoking  as  they  played  their  chemicals. 
Their  hair  singed,  their  cheeks  blistered;  lungs  became 
raw  and  eyes  streamed  water.  They  retreated  slowly, 
always  retreated.  They  could  not  advance,  could  not 
even  make  a  stand.  Checked  here,  the  fire  found  an 
opening  there  and  worked  into  fresh  fuel ;  subdued  in  this 
place,  it  gathered  strength  elsewhere,  and  all  the  time  it 
became  more  aspiring,  leaping  higher  on  trunks,  clinging 
longer  to  dead  branches,  running  up  the  lichen-covered 
bark,  licking  for  the  green  needles,  falling  back,  waiting, 
gathering  strength  and  trying  again.  On  the  flanks  the 
advance  of  flame  was  slower,  the  heat  not  so  great,  the 
smoke  not  so  dense.    They  could  hold  the  fire  from 


346  TIMBER 

progress  there —    But   that  center  kept  on  relentlessly! 

From  the  tool  cache  Goddard  brought  his  equipment 
and  men  ran  along  the  first  fire  line  to  the  eastward  of 
the  blaze,  igniting  the  duff  and  brush  until  forty  rods 
of  fire  worked  backward  against  the  wind  slowly  to  meet 
the  fire  which  came  on  toward  it.  Men  paced  the  fire 
line,  holding  their  tortured  eyes  open  to  watch  for  brands 
that  might  cross  the  strip  and  fall  into  the  timber  on  the 
far  side  to  start  new  fires.  To  combat  this  menace  they 
carried  wet  sacks. 

Another  car  arrived,  driven  by  the  clerk  of  Lincoln 
township,  bringing  more  aid;  men  ran  to  the  work  on 
Helen's  orders  and  the  car  drove  off  to  summon  others. 

Black  Joe  came  up  on  a  panting  horse.  He  slid  to  the 
ground  and  lifted  his  red,  red  eyes  to  the  girl  who  stood 
in  her  car  and  gasped: 

"It's  a  'bug'  fire!   Somebody's  set  this  on  us!'' 

''Set  it?" 

"It  didn't  come  in  from  outside,  Helen.  Somebody 
drug  a  lot  of  dry  bresh  in  off  en  that  hardwood  clearin'. 
One  man,  by  his  tracks  —  must've  worked  all  night.  He 
tetched  it  off  twenty  rod  from  th'  outside  fire  line  — 
That's  what  made  her  hot  from  th'  start!" 

The  girl  fought  down  her  rising  rage.  To  yield  to  such 
emotion  now  would  play  into  the  hands  of  this  incendiary. 
She  must  think  of  no  yesterday,  no  tomorrow;  she  must 
think  of  one  thing:  this  fire;  on  time,  this  hour!  — 

"Forget  that,  Joe!  We'll  get  him  later.  Side  lines  going 
to  hold?  Back  fire  all  right?  Milt  there?  Where's  the 
front  of  it  now?  " 

He  answered  her  briefly  and  mounted  again  but  swung 
his  horse  back  beside  the  car. 


TIMBER  347 

"  If  it  crosses  here, "  indicating  the  Hne  where  the  back 
fire  had  started — **  you've  got  Burned  Dog  swale  to 
fight!" 

"I  know  that,  Joe  —  and  we  can't  let  it  cross!" 

"I  wasn't  tryin'  to  learn  you  nothin',"  he  said  apolo- 
getically, searching  her  set  face. 

Centuries  ago  when  glaciers  gouged  out  this  Blueberry 
country  the  ridges  were  laid  in  strange  patterns.  Burned 
Dog  Creek,  a  very  small  stream,  drained  a  thin  ribbon 
of  swamp  in  the  depth  of  the  pine.  It  ran  nearly  due  east 
until,  meeting  the  abutment  of  a  ridge  that  lay  between  it 
and  the  river,  it  swung  sharply  to  the  northward.  But 
from  the  face  of  bluff  springs  seeped  and  for  two-thirds 
of  the  way  to  its  pine-crested  top  the  balsam,  which  lined 
the  creek,  grew  —  If  fire  should  go  down  that  swale, 
igniting  the  balsams  it  would  run  rapidly,  it  would 
shoot  up  the  inflammable  cover  of  that  bluff  and  mount 
the  ridge  with  a  hold  in  the  pine  tops  that  could  not  be 
denied;  and  then  it  could  sweep  on  to  the  river,  perhaps 
even  across  the  Blueberry  itself,  destroying  utterly  as 
it  went. 

If  Goddard's  back-fire  should  fail!  They  could  make 
one  more  stand,  true,  but  that  next  line  of  defense  dipped 
through  the  first  of  the  balsam  itself  and  if  living  flame 
got  that  far  their  fighting  this  morning  would  have  been 
in  vain! 

The  draft  of  the  conflagration  sucked  at  the  back-fire. 
It  moved  faster,  burning  clean  as  it  went,  its  flame  tendrils 
and  smoke  banners  drawn  against  the  wind  by  the  increas- 
ing draft.  The  crackling  had  grown  to  a  heavy  mutter. 
The  two  ragged  lines  of  flame  drew  nearer.  At  a  hundred 
yards  apart  each  moved  as  fast  as  a  man  would  saunter; 


348  TIMBER 

at  half  that  distance  they  reached  for  one  another,  flutter- 
ing, sweeping  across  the  intervening  space,  gathering 
both  speed  and  height.  A  dull,  increasing  roar  of  ascend- 
ing air  sounded  beneath  the  pistol-like  reports  of  burning 
wood;  the  yellowish,  thick  smoke  rose  as  it  might  through 
a  heated  flue  —  Flame  touched  flame  at  the  extreme 
point  and  that  contact  seemed  to  give  the  strength  which 
swept  the  laggard  portions  of  the  lines  forward  even  faster. 
A  tongue  of  flame  found  hold  in  a  pitch  deposit  on  the  side 
of  a  tree;  the  draft  swept  it  upward,  giving  it  hold,  made 
it  secure  there.  A  long  creeper  of  live  fire  whipped  into  the 
branches  dragging  heavier  flame  with  it  —  There  was  a 
sound  like  a  great,  savage  sigh  of  triumph  and  a  sheet 
of  fire  rose  from  earth  to  tree  crowns  and  with  a  ripping, 
tearing,  wailing  fury  of  sound  the  tops  burst  into  flame  — 

Trees  rocked  and  twisted  in  the  force  of  the  draft. 
A  mighty  column  of  smoke  spouted  into  the  heavens, 
rising  straight  up,  seeming  uninfluenced  by  the  wind  and 
from  it  rained  needles  and  twigs  and  small  branches,  all 
blazing,  and  from  it  came  sounds  of  terror,  sounds  that 
went  straight  through  the  reason  of  strong  men  and 
touched  raw  emotions  that  had  been  buried  for  genera- 
tions. Fire,  man's  first  friend,  had  turned  into  his  raging 
enemy,  mighty  in  its  wrath,  terrible  in  its  manifestation 
of  power. 

Men  dropped  their  tools  and  ran.  Goddard  raised  his 
hoarse  voice  in  command  to  call  them  back,  but  he  could 
not  be  heard  —  they  fled,  scattering  as  the  fire  leaped 
the  break  and  fastened  itself  in  the  tops  of  the  trees  they 
had  sought  to  safeguard!  Thad  Parker  ran  down  the 
fine  and  would  have  gone  on  into  the  forest,  heedless  of 
all  else  except  the  impulse  to  escape  this  fiend,  but  Helen 


TIMBER  349 

Foraker  caught  him  by  the  wrist  and  swung  him  about  to 
face  her. 

"Stay  here!''  she  cried,  and  shook  him.  "I  need  you. 
There's  no  danger  to  you  and  we've  got  to  try  again!  — 
Won't  you  stay?"  to  another  man,  "And  you?  I  need 
you!" 

Others  came  up,  singed,  shaken  men  and  assembled 
about  the  car  as  Helen  started  her  motor.  They  recovered 
some  of  their  balance  when  they  saw  that  she  was  not 
afraid. 

"Get  aboard,  all  of  you!"  she  cried  and  they  scrambled 
up  eagerly,  for  she  was  headed  away  from  the  monster 
that  raged  eighty  rods  from  them  — 

She  drove  through  the  smoke,  stopping  at  another  tool 
cache,  swinging  into  the  next  fire  line,  half  a  mile  to  the 
eastward.  The  men  ran  forward  after  Goddard,  axes 
and  saws  and  shovels  ready  for  the  new  attempt.  The  fire 
which  had  leaped  upward  and  swept  onward  with  such 
initial  savagery,  hesitated  when  it  entered  the  trees  that 
stood  above  cool  ground.  No  draft  held  it  aloft  there 
and  a  mighty  draft  dragged  from  behind.  A  puff  of  cooler 
air  slapped  downward,  driving  a  point  of  the  fire  from  the 
top  in  which  it  burned  to  the  ground.  It  found  hold  in  the 
duff  about  the  trunk —  The  crowns  about  it  burned  out, 
the  fire  dribbled  to  the  dead  needles  again.  Once  more 
men  had  their  chance.  The  fire  was  again  a  groimd  fire, 
no  longer  breaking  through  the  canopy  of  tops! 

Along  the  new  line  of  defense  trees  fell,  tops  into  the 
forest.  Axe  and  saw  slashed  and  bit,  leveling  the  outer 
rows  to  make  the  break  from  canopy  to  canopy  wider  — 
And  to  the  windward  of  these  axemen  others  again  started 
fire  to  burn  out  and  meet  and  check  fire. 


350  TIMBER 

Burned  Dog  tumbled  through  the  pine  here  and  just 
before  it  reached  the  fire  Une  its  current  slowed  as  it 
settled  into  the  head  of  the  swale,  and  the  pine  gave  up  to 
balsam  and  spruce. 

Men  worked  like  mad.  Goddard  drove  them,  tense  and 
ruthless.  Once  a  man  hesitated  and  Milt  struck  him 
heavily,  knocking  him  down,  kicking  him  toward  the 
work  he  had  indicated.  None  noticed.  The  man  got  to 
his  feet  and  went  at  the  task,  the  frightful  sound  of 
advancing  fire  neutralizing  his  resentment.  Black  Joe 
was  there,  barking  the  oaths  of  rivermen  as  he  drove  the 
others  into  the  work.  The  hot  wind,  rushing  down  the 
creek,  bobbed  the  stiff  balsams,  lifted  their  branches  up 
to  expose  the  pitch  blisters  —  The  nodding,  the  beckoning 
of  those  trees,  seemed  to  invite  the  visitation  which  would 
be  their  death. 

Back  in  the  face  of  the  advancing  flame  where  the 
chemicals  had  again  been  tried,  men  gave  up.  Human 
flesh  and  will  could  not  stand  before  that  blast. 
Unhampered,  the  flames  leaped  higher,  ran  faster  before 
the  wind,  spread  their  front  wider  and  their  growing 
draft  again  picked  up  brands  and  flung  them  out  over 
the  heads  of  those  who  worked  feverishly.  Islands  of 
fire  appeared  ahead  of  the  main  front.  Smoke  ascended 
from  a  dozen  fresh  points  and  men  ran  from  place  to  place 
beating  them  out,  but  their  strategy  was  disorganized, 
their  forces  scattered,  efficiency  lost. 

''All  hell  can't  stop  it!"  shouted  Black  Joe  as  he 
came  up  to  Helen  Foraker,  who  was  dispatching  fresh 
arrivals  to  relieve  worn  men.  "It'll  hit  that  balsam  and 
go  down  the  creek  to  the  bluff.  It'll  go  up  that  like  an 
explosion!" 


TIMBER  351 

He  started  away.  His  last  words  echoed  in  the  girl's 
consciousness,  hammering  at  som.e  hidden  idea  — 

Explosion!  —  ^' Black  Joe!"  her  voice  was  shrill  and  he 
wheeled.  "If  it  goes  up  like  an  explosion,  can't  an 
explosion  stop  it?" 

"Huh?  What's—" 

"Dynamite,  Joe!  Dynamite!" 

"Oh,  God  help  you,  Miss  Helen!  God  help  you,"  he 
cried,  with  a  new  excitement,  the  stimulus  of  a  fresh  hope 
in  his  voice. 

A  car  was  there,  its  owner  begging  for  an  errand.  He 
had  brought  men  from  Pancake,  men  who  had  scorned 
and  scoffed  at  Foraker's  Folly,  but  fire  closes  breaches, 
beUttles  differences  and  those  he  brought  were  now  at 
work;  this  man  awaited  the  girl's  word. 

"Take  Joe!"  she  said  to  him.    ''Push  him,  Joe!" 

The  man  sprang  into  his  seat,  glad  to  obey  her  orders. 

Across  the  pole  bridge  they  tore,  past  the  big  house, 
on  to  a  dugout  in  the  river  bank.  Boxes  of  dynamite  were 
tossed  into  the  car,  a  coil  of  fine  wire  thrown  in  and,  hold- 
ing a  box  of  percussion  caps  high,  Joe  swore  as  he 
ordered  the  other  to  drive  back. 

Helen  left  her  post  for  she  could  do  no  good  there.  Men 
were  wearing  out,  they  were  deserting  sneaking  away 
under  cover  of  the  smoke  and  she  kept  among  those  who 
remained,  a  soaked  handkerchief  over  her  mouth.  The 
roar  of  the  oncoming  fire  increased;  it  conmienced  to 
mutter  again  and  the  back-fire,  feeling  the  pull  of  that 
hot  draft,  leaped  and  ate  toward  its  kind  — 

A  sucking  sound,  a  flapping,  like  an  immense  flag  in 
a  heavy  puff  of  wind,  a  long-drawn  wo-o-o-sh,  and  a  great 
eddy  of  fire  and  smoke  was  sucked  upward  and  scattered. 


352  TIMBER 

It  left  the  tops  through  which  it  had  passed  only  singed  but 
the  brands  it  had  lifted  were  snatched  by  the  gale  and  swept 
along,  falling,  a  thousand  of  them,  into  the  balsam  thicket! 

A  crackling  followed,  like  a  growing,  harsh  laugh.  A 
million  matches  scratching;  a  thousand  bull  whips 
popping  —  A  ripping,  a  tearing  —  The  swale  was  afire  and 
the  flame,  bursting  from  great  puffs  of  thick,  greenish 
smoke,  exploding,  leaping,  swept  on  down  the  creek, 
melting  all  that  stood  in  its  path! 

''Get  Raymer!"  Helen  shouted,  mouth  close  to 
Goddard^s  ear.  ''Send  him  to  the  top  of  the  bluff  — 
and  come  yourself — " 

Again  she  sped  with  her  car  through  the  smoke,  reckless 
of  others  who  might  be  in  her  path.  She  went  up  a  rising 
road,  hot  ashes  falling  about  her  and  stopped,  leaping  out, 
calling  aloud  to  Black  Joe. 

As  well  have  whispered!  From  the  crest  of  the  ridge  she 
looked  down  through  the  smoke-screened  balsams  sixty 
feet  below  to  see  the  inferno  beyond,  sending  up  its 
torrent  of  triumphant  sounds:  the  rip  and  tear  of  flame 
banners  frazzled  out  by  their  own  heat,  the  popping, 
the  snapping,  now  and  again  a  sound  like  a  gun-shot; 
a  mighty,  breathy  wailing  —  and  all  against  the  back- 
ground of  savage  roar! 

Joe  was  on  his  knees,  driving  his  crow  bar  into  the  brink 
of  the  bluff.  A  half-dozen  others  were  doing  likewise, 
making  parallel  rows  of  holes  among  the  roots  of  those 
pines  that  grew  above  the  ladder  of  balsam  tips  on  which 
that  fire  would  mount. 

Others  took  up  the  work  and  Joe,  relieved,  ran  back 
to  tear  open  the  boxes  of  powder.  His  hands  trembled 
and  he  had  no  ear  for  Helen.    Now  and  then  he  glanced 


TIMBER  353 

into  that  furnace  blast  from  below  and  his  lips  moved 
soundlessly  —  Goddard  joined  him. 

Thad  Parker  ran  up,  gibbering,  an  axe  in  his  hands. 

''It'll  burn  us  all!"   he  screamed.    ''We  can't  get  out!" 

Some  one  grasped  and  shook  him,  but  Thad  would  not 
listen.  His  eyes  were  those  of  a  mad  man  and  the  cries 
that  came  from  his  throat  grew  inarticulate.  He  bit  at 
the  man  who  held  him,  tried  to  lift  the  axe  and  swing  it 
at  his  captor.  The  other  staggered  away  and  Thad 
turned  and  fled  into  the  smoke  — 

Joe  and  Milt  fitted  caps  to  the  dynamite  and  Raymer 
came  up  on  a  gasping  horse.  He  caught  the  idea  at  a 
word  from  Helen  and  began  setting  wires.  It  was  delicate 
work,  painful  work  under  those  conditions.    Time  sped! 

The  cars  were  backed  out  and  down  the  grade,  but 
Helen  gave  no  heed.  She  followed  closely  the  men  who 
were  making  this,  her  last  big  play.  The  greasy  sticks 
went  into  the  ground,  one  by  one,  tamped  carefully 
in  their  holes  along  the  brink.  For  two  hundred  yards 
they  were  planted  and  when  the  last  cap  was  being 
adjusted  the  furnace  blast  from  below  tore  at  the  crowns 
of  the  pine  trees  above  them  with  the  strength  of  a 
tornado. 

The  girl  was  atremble  as  she  settled  herself  beside 
Joe  and  the  coil  box  behind  a  tree  trunk,  prostrate 
on  the  ground,  screening  her  face  with  her  hands  from 
the  heat.  She  could  not  speak,  could  not  think,  could 
hear  nothing  but  that  crescendoing  roar  from  below. 
Black  Joe  crouched  on  his  knees,  skin  blistering  through 
his  shirt,  peered  over  the  brink.  He  saw  a  streamer  of 
flame  leap  upward  through  the  broiling  heat  waves, 
wrenching  at  balsams  as  it  seared  them,  saw  another 


354  TIMBER 

fork  stab  out,  saw  a  solid  wall  of  fire  flutter  and  hesitate 
and  then  wrap  about  the  topmost  balsams,  clinging 
there  a  split  instant  before  it  made  its  last  leap  —  its 
leap  into  the  pine  above. 

Through  that  bedlam  of  terror,  Helen's  voice  cut  like 
a  knife:   ''Now  Joe!'' 

She  was  thrown  from  her  knees  to  her  face  because 
as  that  sheet  of  flame  gathered  itself  for  its  jump  into  the 
pine  tops,  the  whole  bluff  belched  out  to  meet  it!  A 
thousand  tons  of  loose  sand  were  flung  into  the  face  of  the 
fire.  Outward  and  up  and  down,  it  struck,  more  vicious 
than  the  heat  in  its  path,  more  powerful  than  the  flame,, 
Trees  on  the  brink  rocked  as  the  root  holds  that  had 
endured  throughout  their  life  gave  way.  They  swayed 
and  twisted  and  three,  one  after  the  other,  toppled  over 
into  that  smoking  maw !  — 

Smoking  maw!  The  flame  was  gone.  As  a  puff  of 
breath  will  extinguish  a  candle,  so  that  blast  had 
blown  life  from  the  fire.  For  yards,  the  balsam  that 
had  blazed  was  smothered  with  dry  sand.  For  rods, 
the  fire  was  stripped  clean  from  wood  where  it  had  found 
hold.  The  point  of  the  fire  was  broken,  gone.  It  was  no 
longer  in  the  balsam  tops,  no  longer  a  menace  to  the 
pine  above.  It  had  consumed  as  it  went;  there  was 
nothing  left  in  the  path  of  that  which  had  escaped  the  full 
force  of  the  explosion  to  feed  upon.  It  would  burn  for 
days,  perhaps,  but  it  was  down  there,  disorganized, 
where  men  could  seize  upon  and  fight  it! 

'^Oh,  God  A'mighty!"  cried  Black  Joe.  "If  Paul 
Bunion  could  V  saw  that!" 

"Herd  back  that  crew!"  choked  Helen.  "We  can  hold 
it,  now!" 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

Thad  Parker  had  fled  frantically  from  the  monster 
that  unbalanced  his  mind.  Axe  clutched  in  his  hands 
he  raced  through  the  forest,  looking  back  now  and  then 
as  though  fearful  of  some  terrible  presence  peering  over 
his  shoulder,  tripping,  stumbling,  falling,  rising  and 
keeping  on,  breath  making  sounds  like  those  from  a 
distressed  animal.  He  came  out  into  a  fire  line  and 
followed  it,  turning  at  an  intersection.  His  flight  became 
"a  feeble  flounder  and  once  when  he  fell  he  did  not  try 
to  rise  until  he  had  crawled  a  dozen  yards,  clinging  to 
his  axe,  whimpering.  He  crossed  the  bridge  and  followed 
the  ruts  toward  the  Foraker  house.  He  did  not  hear 
Bobby  and  Bessy  crying,  did  not  heed  the  sharp  questions 
flung  at  him  by  Aunty  May,  did  not  see  Luke  Taylor 
standing  at  a  corner  of  the  building,  leaning  on  his  stick 
and  staring  into  the  smoke.  He  went  on  along  the  road 
that  led  to  Seven  Mile,  away  from  the  demon  that  was 
ever  at  his  heels. 

A  car  rounded  a  curve  and  bore  down  upon  him. 
'Parker  stopped,  swaying  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
eyes  fast  on  the  figure  at  the  wheel  which  grew  rapidly 
distinguishable  as  the  car  came  through  the  murk.  The 
motor  was  four  lengths  away.  Its  horn  sounded 
impatiently.  The  man  at  the  wheel  made  a  gesture 
for  Parker  to  step  out  of  his  way  and  then  reached  for 
his  emergency  brake,  bending  low  and  cursing  as  Thad 
gave  no  ground. 

355 


m 


356  TIMBER 

Parker  moved,  but  did  not  step  aside.  He  lurched 
forward.  He  swung  the  axe  above  his  head  thrice,  as  a 
hammer  thrower  whirls  his  weight.  He  let  it  go  and 
doubled  quickly,  with  a  shriek  of  crazy  mirth.  Glass 
of  the  wind  shield  splintered  explosively.  Wilcox,  beside 
the  driver,  cried  out.  Bert  Wales  and  Wes  Hubbard, 
in  the  back  seat,  threw  up  their  arms  against  the  glass 
slivers  —  then  rose  and  leaned  forward. 

Jim  Harris  made  no  sound.  His  hand  retained  its 
grasp  on  the  brake  and  he  sagged  forward  over  the  wheel, 
a  great,  limp  hulk;  the  axe  dropped  to  the  floor  and  the 
purpling  patch  behind  his  ear  sent  out  its  first  thin  ooze 
of  blood.  The  others  lifted  him  out  of  the  seat  as  a  roadster 
stopped  behind  them  and  Dr.  Pelly,  Humphrey  Bryant 
and  John  Taylor  got  out  and  gathered  about  the  prostrate 
Harris. 

There  was  little  blood,  but  Harris'  breathing  was  fast 
and  heavy  and  as  the  physician,  kneeling  on  the  sand, 
touched  the  bruise  with  light  fingers  they  saw  the  broken 
bone  stir  beneath  discoloring  skin. 

"Isn't  that  bad,  doctor?"  Wilcox  was  the  first  to 
speak  and  Pelly  nodded. 

''As  good  as  dead." 

The  smoke-laden  wind  sobbed  in  the  trees  above  them. 
For  a  moment  there  was  no  other  sound  and  then  Thad 
Parker's  weak,  faltering  voice  rose  in  a  thin  wail,  half 
fright,  half  triumph. 

''Dead!  Dead?  And  I  killed  him?  Before  God,  I 
killed  him  with  my  hands!  I  killed  him,  and  he  killed 
my  wife,  my  hope  —  I  —  I  — " 

He  whirled  and  would  have  run  again,  but  hands 
clutched  him.    He  struggled  and  shouted  and  laughed. 


TIMBER  357 

"Get  him  into  a  car  and  to  town,"  said  the  physician. 
"Stark  mad!" 

Wales  and  Hubbard  led  Thad  away  and  sat  beside  him 
on  the  cushioned  seat,  holding  him  there,  as  he  leaned 
forward  and  whispered. 

Philip  Rowe  came  running  from  the  house  and  old 
Luke  Taylor  himself  moved  down  the  road  to  join  the 
group.   A  third  car  stopped  and  five  men  got  out. 

And  one  more,  tnmdling  an  ancient  bicycle  through 
the  forest,  halted  and  made  as  if  to  draw  back  when  he 
came  into  view  of  those  others.  But  he  did  not  go  back. 
Charley  Stump  stood  there,  stroking  the  bent  handle 
bars.  The  group  about  the  unconscious  figure  shifted; 
Charley  could  see  Jim  Harris'  face.  He  left  his  safety 
and  moved  forward  timidly.  He  stood  behind  them, 
listening;  he  saw  the  doctor  shake  his  head  hopelessly; 
he  heard  young  Wilcox  mutter  as  he  turned  away.  Charley 
dropped  to  his  knees,  hands  clasped,  staring  down  into 
Harris'  face. 

"Jim?"  His  husky  voice  rose  uncertainly.  "You 
ain't  dead?  Jim? — "  He  looked  about,  bewilderment 
in  his  pale,  witless  eyes.  "He  ain't  goin'  to  die  is  he?" 
in  appeal  to  the  doctor.  "Jim  can't  die  now,  doc,  can 
he? —  He  was  goin'  to  give  me  tires."  He  looked 
anxiously  from  face  to  face.  "Tires  for  my  safety — 
Jim,  you  can't  die,  Jim!"  He  lifted  trembling,  blackened 
hands  and  looked  about,  at  Pelly,  at  Rowe,  at  Luke 
Taylor  — 

A  movement,  and  young  John  stepped  through  the 
group  and  there  was  that  in  his  face  and  manner  which 
was  electric,  which  made  men  wait  for  him  to  speak, 
there  in  the  smoke  of  fire  and  the  shadow  of  death. 


358  TIMBER 

"Tires,  Charley?^'  he  asked.  "He  was  going  to  give 
you  tires  for  whatf^' 

On  that  question  the  old  man  rose.  "NothinV'  he 
whimpered.    "He  wasn't  going  to  give  me  nothinM" 

He  started  to  edge  away,  but  John  stepped  before  him, 
stooping  to  stare  close  into  his  face. 

"Yes  he  was,  Charley.  Tell  these  men  what  you  did 
to  earn  those  tires!" 

"No,  no!"  trying  to  tear  his  eyes  from  that  insistent 
gaze. 

The  old  man  stared  about,  sniffing,  breath  very  fast, 
eyes  hunted.  He  looked  at  John  again  and  shook  his 
head,  but  there  was  no  conviction  about  the  gesture 
and  as  Taylor  started  to  speak  he  cried  out: 

"Oh,  I  didn't  want  to!  He  made  me  —  said  I'd  go  to 
jail  if  I  didn't  set  that  fire."  A  stir;  added  tension,  as 
the  group  became  more  compact. 

"And  what  else?  That's  only  a  part  of  it.  What  else, 
Charley?  Where  were  you  the  night  the  logs  burned,  the 
night  the  dam  went  out?" 

"Oh,  I  didn't  —  he  made  me!  —  he  said  I'd  go  to  jail! 
He  told  me  I  would  if  I  didn't  set  fire  to  her  logs  an'  drive 
spikes  in  some  an'  blow  up  her  dam.  He  told  me  that!" 
He  looked  down  at  the  unconscious  man  at  his  feet  and 
clasped  trembling  hands.  "He  made  me!"  throwing 
those  hands  wide  for  mercy.  "I  didn't  want  to,  but  he 
made  me  —  he  —  he  —  " 

Charley  looked  about  again  as  his  voice  died  to  a 
whisper.  His  roving  gaze  set  itself  on  Phil  Rowe's  face. 
The  man  quailed  and  started  to  move  away. 

"Hold  on,  Phil!"  It  was  Taylor  again  and  after  a 
moment :  '^ What  else,  Charley?  Who  else  threatened  you?" 


TIMBER  359 

Slowly  one  of  the  withered  arms  rose,  an  unsteady, 
gnarled  finger  half  pointing.  The  accusation  came  in  a 
half  whisper. 

''Him!"  halting  the  finger  to  indicate  Rowe.  "He 
come  th'  first  time  —  they  both  told  me  I'd  go  to  jail 
if  I—" 

"It's  a  lie!  He's  crazy!"  Rowe's  denial,  sharp  and 
panicky,  broke  the  tension.    Men  moved. 

"It  is  no  lie!"  Taylor  elbowed  through  them  to  be 
near  Rowe.  "You've  gotten  away  with  your  last  lie, 
your  last  piece  of  blackmail  in  this  deal,  Phil!  Do  you 
think  I've  been  asleep?  I've  been  just  a  lap  behind  you 
for  days,  you  rat!" 

Humphrey  Bryant  moved  to  where  he  could  see  John's 
face. 

"I've  got  enough  on  you  Rowe,  to  keep  you  busy  from 
now  on!  Harris,  there,  may  be  lucky — "  John  looked 
about,  breathing  deeply  in  anger  and  saw  Henry  Wales 
and  Wes  Hubbard  staring  at  him  from  the  car,  where 
they  held  the  mumbling  Thad.  "And  may  be  others 
will  wish  they  were  dead  before  I'm  through!" 

His  eyes  ran  over  the  faces  before  him  and  came  to 
rest  on  his  father's.  His  shoulders  slacked  and  he  shook 
his  head  rather  sorrowfully.  "These  are  the  things  you 
have  done,"  he  said,  spreading  his  hands.  "This  is 
why  I  have  had  to  fight  you." 

His  anger  was  gone;  he  looked  pityingly  at  his  father. 
For  a  moment  their  gazes  clung,  the  old  man's  sharp  and 
defensive  —  before  something  faded  in  his  eyes.  He 
looked  from  his  son  to  Charley  Stump  who  stood  shaking 
with  fright  and  it  seemed  as  though  between  the  two  was 
more  than  the  bond  of  age:   the  communion  of  trouble, 


360  TIMBER 

of  guilt.  Luke  caught  his  breath  as  though  to  answer. 
But  he  did  not  speak.  He  half  turned  to  confront  his 
bookkeeper  and  then  moved  away,  walking  slowly,  cane 
thrusting  deep  into  the  sand. 

There  was  shifting,  voices  lifted;  questions,  oaths, 
excited  laughter.  Humphrey  Bryant^s  hand  went  out 
and  grasped  Taylor's  arm,  clenching  there  tightly  in  a 
pressure  which  meant  all,  but  he  only  said:  "We  came 
to  help,  and  we're  wasting  time  —  now. " 

They  moved,  starting  for  their  cars.  And  then  a  heavy 
detonation  broke  through  the  forest,  balking  the  very 
wind,  it  seemed.    They  halted  and  faced  its  direction. 

"Dynamite!"  said  somebody.    "Let's  get  on!" 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

It  was  late  afternoon.  All  day  the  men  who  took 
orders  from  Helen  Foraker  had  held  the  fire  to  the  limits 
set  down  by  the  great  blast.  It  bm-ned  briskly,  hotly, 
but  it  was  within  their  grasp  and  could  not  get  away. 
The  wind  blew  steadUy  and  there  was  still  danger  in 
letting  up  until  above  the  shouts  and  the  snap  of  burning 
wood,  the  moan  of  trees  that  had  been  saved,  came  a 
heavy  shaking  boom  of  thunder.  Through  the  thick  smoke 
scattering  rain  drops  fell,  sending  up  little  puffs  of  dust 
in  the  fire  hne.  The  wind  dropped,  the  thin  shower 
abated,  stopped,  and  then  with  a  fresh  gust  it  came  in 
a  hissing,  drenching  torrent  with  lightning  gashing  the 
murk  and  thunder  ripping  open  new  clouds  heavy  with 
moisture.    In  ten  minutes  the  ruts  of  the  road  ran  water. 

Drenched,  her  face  streaked  with  grime,  eyes  smarting, 
weak  from  effort  and  strain,  the  girl  entered  her  kitchen. 
Aunty  May  met  her  in  the  doorway. 

"You're  a  sight T'  she  cried.  "But  this  rain'll  fix  it, 
an'  I'm  glad  you're  here!"  Helen  took  off  her  hat  wearily 
and  made  no  response.  "He's  in  there  yet,"  gesturing 
toward  the  front  room. 

"He?  — Who?" 

"That  old  devil!"  eyes  snapping.  "I  heard  what  he 
had  to  say  this  mornin'.  He's  stayed  here  all  day.  All 
durin'  the  fire  he  had  Injun  kids  from  th'  mill  running 

361 


362  TIMBER 

back  an'  forth  to  tell  him  about  it,  givin'  *em  his  dirty 
dollars!" 

Helen's  face  showed  amazement  through  its  weariness. 

''I  told  'em  both  to  go,  but  he  won't.  He  made  that 
there  Rowe  go  out  and  set  in  th'  car  in  th'  rain.  He's 
mad  at  him,  called  him  awful  names!  I  tried  to  make  him 
go,  too,  but  he  just  said  he'd  go  when  you  come.  You'd 
better  send  him  away,  Helen;   he  makes  me   uneasy!" 

The  girl  opened  the  door  and  looked  into  the  other 
room.  It  was  dark,  like  the  last  of  evening  twilight. 
Lightning  played  through  the  damp  shadows  and  the 
roar  of  rain  was  terrific.  Luke  Taylor  was  in  the  chair 
she  had  drawn  out  for  him  that  morning.  He  seemed 
more  shrunken,  more  feeble  as  he  sat  far  down  on  his 
spine,  knees  bent  sharply.  He  was  not  aware  that  she 
was  there  until  she  stood  beside  him;  then  his  hands 
which  had  been  tapping  the  chair  arms  stopped  upraised. 
The  girl  did  not  speak  and  Luke  rose  slowly,  peering 
close  into  her  face  as  a  protracted  flicker  of  lightning 
showed  it  in  sharp  relief. 

"That  old  she-devil  tried  to  drive  me  out,"  he  said. 
"Maybe  I've  got  something  like  that  coming,  but  I 
wouldn't  go  —  not  for  her.  I've  turned  hell  loose  on  you, 
I  guess.  From  what  I  hear  you've  got  a  long  story  to 
listen  to. "  He  paused  and  his  lips  worked. 

"You're  full  of  moonshine,"  he  rasped.  "This  is  all 
damned  nonsense,  but  you're  makin'  a  go  of  it!  You 
ain't  got  brass  or  cheek,  like  I  said  —  just  nerve  — 
nerve!"  He  paused  once  more  and  still  she  did  not  speak. 

"That  matter  you  spoke  to  me  about,  that  money 
you  need  —  it's  all  nonsense,  all  moonshine!  When 
you  got  to  have  it?" 


TIMBER  363 

She  was  numb;  her  knees  were  giving;  she  said  flatly: 
"Now  —  soon  —  within  ten  days. " 

He  sniffed.  ''I'll  take  a  chance  with  you;  I'll  invest 
in  a  little  moonshine  —  because  you've  got  a  nerve,  and 
because  you  —  because  you're  makin'  a  go  of  it!"  He 
said  that  last  as  though  the  words  hurt  him,  as  though  it 
was  gall  to  admit  her  success.  ''I'll  let  you  have  the  thirty, 
and  I'll  fix  it  so's  you  can  get  more  —  when  you  need  it; 
whenever  you  need  it.  But  I've  got  to  get  a  new  book- 
keeper first!" 

She  closed  her  eyes.  She  heard  him  grumbling  more 
as  he  buttoned  his  coat  close. 

"Oh,  I  thank  you  —  I  thank  you  — " 

"Don't  thank  me!"  he  snapped.  He  was  at  the  door, 
opening  it,  to  let  the  roar  of  rain  and  forest  in  on  them. 
"You  get  it — "  he  moved  back  a  step,  "on  one  condi- 
tion." 

She  nodded. 

"An'  that  is  that  you'll  let  me  come  up  here  when  I 
damn  please  —  an'  listen  to  'em  talk  —  an'  listen  — 
You're  full  of  moonshine,  but  maybe  you're  right  —  about 
that  four  million  a  year  — " 

Something  like  a  catch  of  breath  checked  him.  He 
turned  abruptly  and  went  out  into  the  rain.  She  saw 
him  crawl  through  the  curtains  of  the  car,  saw  the  white 
face  of  Phil  Rowe  as  he  started  the  motor.  She  turned 
to  the  mantel  and  lifted  her  face  to  the  shadowed  photo- 
graph of  her  father. 

"All  over,"  she  whispered,  and  laughed  shortly. 
"Saved  —  Foraker's  Folly  is  respected  —  We've  won 
father!   We've—" 

Thunder    crashed,    the    rain  abated,    as    though   for 


364  TIMBER 

breath,  and  came  anew,  the  downpour  rising  in  spume 
from  the  sod  outside. 

"Won?  —  Oh,  father,  IVe  lost!" 

It  was  there  that  Aunty  May  found  her,  hands  clasped, 
staring  blankly  before  her.  She  was  not  crying,  had  not 
cried;  it  would  have  been  better  so;  the  suffering  in  her 
face  would  not  have  been  so  terrible  had  it  found  the 
relief  of  tears.   The  older  woman  stopped  shortly. 

"Helen!   What  is  it?" 

But  she  needed  no  reply.  The  old  arms  which  for  years 
had  gestured  only  in  irritation  went  about  her  hungrily; 
the  old  voice  which  had  been  so  sour  and  sharp  whispered 
softly  in  her  ear.  Helen  turned  and  put  her  arms  about 
the  woman's  neck  and  put  her  head  wearily  on  a  bony 
shoulder. 

"There;  there,  I  heard  what  he  said.  It's  all  over. 
You've  come  out  on  top  of  th'  heap!" 

"Oh,  Aunty  May  —  it  is  over  —  I  drove  him  away; 
I  didn't  trust.  I  didn't  take  happiness  —  when  it  came  — 
He's  fought  for  me  even  when  I  suspected  him  —  and  I 
can't  ever  look  into  his  face  again  — " 

They  sat  down  together  in  the  big  chair.  Aunty  May 
holding  Helen  on  her  lap,  talking  gently  to  her,  tears 
in  her  own  eyes,  trying  to  provoke  tears  for  the  girl. 
But  Helen  talked  in  short,  stiff  sentences  of  her  helpless- 
ness, the  emptiness  of  her  triumph.  She  had  won  her  big 
fight  but  she  had  lost  the  joy  of  life. 

The  last  light  faded.  Rain  continued,  a  veritable 
cloudburst.  Helen  went  to  her  room  and  bathed  and 
dressed,    cleansing    herself    mechanically.      Downstairs 


TIMBER  365 

Humphrey  Bryant  waited  for  her,  waited  with  serious 
old  eyes,  leaning  downward  in  his  chair,  tapping  a  foot 
rhythmically.    He  had  so  much  to  tell! 

Night. 

A  lull  in  the  rain. 

Aunty  May  hung  up  her  dishpan  and  draped  the  clean 
cloth  over  it.  When  she  had  wiped  her  hands  she  wiped 
her  eyes. 

She  stood  a  long  time  in  the  doorway,  peering  at  the 
lights  in  the  men's  shanty  where  a  grimed  crew  talked  of 
that  day's  fight  and  of  Helen  Foraker.  A  figure  moved 
outside. 

**Hey!"  she  called,  in  a  cracking  voice.  The  figure 
paused.    *'Send  Joe  here." 

He  came,  scuttling  through  the  fresh  torrent  and 
paused  on  the  step  and  looked  up  at  the  woman  with 
shock  in  his  eyes. 

"Black  Joe,  come  in  here!"  she  said  impatiently. 

He  stepped  inside,  incredulous;  for  the  first  time  in 
two  decades  she  had  addressed  him! 

"You've  been  wrong,"  she  said.  "You've  been  wrong 
for  twenty  years,  you  stubborn  old  devil!  But  I've  had 
a  lesson  today  —  I  — "  brushing  angrily  at  her  eyes. 
"I've  saw  what  misunderstandin's  lead  to.  You're 
wrong,  but  I  give  in,  Joe.  That's  a  woman's  way;  to 
give  in,  to  yield,  to  take  the  blame.  But  I'll  do  it.  /  ain't 
a  body  to  let  things  run  along  until  they  get  serious!" 

His  face  grew  alive  with  amazement,  with  hope.  He  stared 
at  her  as  she  dabbed  at  her  eyes  with  an  apron  comer. 

"Well,  you  old  fool,  ain't  you  ever  goin'  to  speak?" 
she  cried. 


366  TIMBER 

"May?  — May?" 

Awkwardly  he  put  a  hand  to  her  shoulder  and  her  arms 
went  about  him. 

For  a  long  time  they  stood  in  embrace,  hearts  racing 
as  they  pumped  out  the  Htterness  and  brought  in  new 
life,  new  hope. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

It  was  the  second  day  after  the  fire.  All  yesterday 
it  had  rained,  but  at  evening,  just  as  the  light  was  fading, 
clouds  broke  and  a  crimson  sunset  touched  the  trees 
with  a  blaze  of  jeweled  glory. 

This  morning  had  dawned  fair,  the  air  was  clean  from 
the  great  fall  of  rain,  wind  came  in  from  the  northwest, 
brisk  and  cool,  dazzling  white  clouds  sped  across  a  dazzling 
blue  sky.  Only  the  river  was  unclean;  red  and  roiled 
and  high,  it  rushed  savagely  down  its  course,  swollen 
beyond  precedent. 

In  Pancake  Jim  Harris  lay  in  the  Commercial  House, 
swimming  back  to  half -consciousness.  Dr.  Pelly  had  been 
constantly  at  his  bedside  since  the  operation.  This 
morning  he  left,  to  go  home  and  sleep. 

In  the  office  of  the  hotel  he  met  Humphrey  Bryant. 

''How's  the  boss  of  Blueberry  County?"  he  asked, 
with  a  wan  grin. 

The  editor's  tongue  roved  his  lips. 

"Well,  Rowe's  out  on  bail  and  half  the  supervisors  are 
scurrying  around  trying  to  find  out  where  lightning  will 
strike  next."    He  chuckled  and  sobered.    ''How  is  he?" 

The  doctor  slipped  a  morsel  of  plug  tobacco  into  his 
mouth  and  winked.   "Better'n  a  hypo,  Hump. 

"Jim?  Well,  he's  a  sick  man,  but  since  yesterday  I've 
begun  to  think  that  Pelly 's  a  damned  good  surgeon." 
He  spit  at  a  cuspidor  and  a  smile  of  pride  wrinkled  his 
face.  "Another  thing,  Hump,  I'd  rather  see  a  live  stinker 

367 


368  TIMBER 

taking  his  mortal  and  certain  medicine  than  a  dead  one 
going  to  a  hell  fire  that's  largely  theoretical!" 

They  went  out  together. 

''Thad?"  asked  Pelly  as  they  parted.  "He'll  clear  up 
all  right,  so  far's  his  mind  goes.  His  heart  though  — 
you  can't  mend  broken  hearts  like  we  can  a  busted  skull  — 
That's  one  reason  I  want  Harris  to  get  well  —  I'm  a 
vengeful  cuss,  I  guess." 

Helen  was  at  her  desk,  busy  with  figures  —  ostensibly. 
A  letter  written  in  Luke  Taylor's  scrawl  was  before  her, 
paper  limp  from  much  handling.  She  read  his  promises 
of  aid  again  and  looked  out  the  window  and  down  the 
road  as  she  had  been  looking  for  an  hour,  ever  since  John 
Taylor  telephoned  from  the  mill. 

"I  am  coming  for  a  final  settlement,"  he  had  said. 
"The  last  car  of  lumber  will  go  out  tonight." 

His  final  settlement!  With  all  the  relief  that  should 
have  been  in  the  girl's  heart  there  was  no  rest.  She  had 
won;  with  Luke  Taylor's  backing  there  was  no  chance  for 
her  to  lose  now;  she  had  put  herself  into  a  pinch  on  a 
theory;  fire  had  laid  waste  to  a  full  section  of  her  timber. 
But  there  would  never  be  incendiarism  again,  there  would 
be  no  lack  of  working  capital  to  tide  her  over  until 
Foraker's  Folly  could  function  — 

And  yet  there  was  only  pain  reflected  in  her  face. 
She  saw  him  coming  down  the  road,  walking  slowly. 
He  rapped  and  she  opened  the  door  for  him.  Confusion 
was  on  each  and  after  the  greeting  they  avoided  looking 
at  one  another. 

"Here  is  the  statement  from  the  mill,"  she  said.  "Is 
that  right?" 


TIMBER  369 

He  glanced  at  the  totals. 

''Right,"  he  said,  and  drew  out  a  check  book. 

He  wrote  slowly,  painstakingly,  as  though  it  required 
effort  to  hold  his  hand  steady.  She  watched  him,  with 
her  heart  high  in  her  throat,  hampering  her  breathing. 
The  number  —  the  date  —  the  amount  in  script  — 
in  figures  —  his  name  —  to  the  last  period. 

That  was  all.  It  was  all  over,  now,  for  he  was  handing 
the  check  to  her  and  rising,  reaching  for  his  hat.  She 
looked  at  the  slip  of  paper  but  could  not  read. 

''That  concludes  our  contract,"  he  was  saying,  "That 
and  my  thanks — " 

They  faced  one  another.  Her  eyes  went  to  his  beseechingly. 

"Thanks?  My  thanks  are  due  to  you,"  she  said. 

"No,  I  —  I  feel  as  though  I  were  testifying  in  a  revival. 
You  have  done  a  great  deal  for  me.  I  came  up  here  a  — 
I  didn't  amount  to  much.  I  have  learned  this:  that  I 
know  very  little;  and  perhaps  that  is  the  first  step  in 
finding  out  things. 

"I  think  you  are  the  biggest  person  I  have  ever  met," 
very  humbly,  and  almost  shyly,  as  though  his  words 
were  presumptuous.  "You  have  opened  my  eyes,  you 
have  set  me  straight. 

"I  made  you  so  much  trouble.  I  didn't  mean  to,  but 
it  was  because  I  was  ignorant  and  didn't  know  it.  I'm 
so  sorry."  He  paused  and  flushed  as  he  mustered  his 
courage.  "  I  was  presumptuous.  I  —  I  aspired  to  things 
that  were  quite  beyond  me." 

He  was  letting  her  out  easily,  he  was  doing  his  best 
to  cover  the  hurt  that  her  error  had  caused  them  both! 
He  was  going  now.  She  was  conscious  that  he  moved 
toward  the  door  as  though  in  haste.  She  followed. 


370  TIMBER 

"It  was  I  who  made  the  mistake,"  she  said.  "I  — 
Anything  that  menaced  my  forest  menaced  me.  I  couldn't 
see  —  beyond  that  pine." 

They  were  outside,  the  girl  on  the  bottom  step.  He 
was  going  out  of  her  life  because  once  she  had  driven 
him  away  unjustly.  She  looked  up  at  the  pine  trees  which 
seemed  so  inconsequential  now,  to  have  so  little  meaning. 
He  was  denying  what  she  had  said,  he  was  humbling 
himself  to  make  her  suffering  easy. 

His  hand  was  outstretched  and  she  looked  at  it  vaguely 
and  placed  hers  in  it. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said.    "Good-bye  and  good  luck." 

She  could  not  speak.  It  was  an  affront  to  beg  forgive- 
ness; she  had  done  the  unpardonable;  what  she  had  today 
he  had  given  her;  what  he  was  taking  out  of  her  life  — 
she  was  to  blame  for  that. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said. 

She  could  not  see  his  face  twitch  as  he  turned  away. 
She  stood  looking  after  him,  holding  her  hand  outstretched 
as  he  had  released  it. 

Pauguk  at  the  end  of  her  chain  whined  and  bared  her 
fangs. 

Helen  turned  into  the  house.  It  seemed  that  there  was 
no  warmth  in  her  body  — 

Milt  Goddard,  working  on  the  motor  of  her  car,  watched. 
He  was  at  a  distance,  could  not  hear  their  words,  but  he 
could  see  their  faces  and  their  postures.  That  was  farewell 
to  them,  but  the  big  woodsman  knew  that  it  was  no 
farewell.  He  saw  that  the  impulse  which  could  never  be 
shattered  so  long  as  life  endures  was  in  their  hearts.  He 
knew  that  though  John  Taylor  was  disappearing  down 
the  trail  that  skirted  the  fringe  of  swamp  and  made  a 


TIMBER  371 

short  cut  to  the  mill,  he  was  not  leaving  Helen  Foraker. 
Taylor  was  gone,  but  he  would  be  back  —  that,  or  the 
girl  would  follow  him  down  that  trail  some  day,  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth  if  necessary;  she  was  that  sort  — 

He  dropped  his  wrench.  The  screen  door  slammed 
behind  Helen.  The  wind  lulled.  Pauguk  wsis  whining, 
straining,  eyes  on  the  trail  Taylor  had  taken. 

For  a  long  interval  Goddard  stood  there.  He  tried 
to  resume  his  work,  but  could  not.  The  rage  in  his  heart 
grew  unbearable  and  after  a  time  he  moved  away  toward 
the  house,  going  slowly,  silently,  on  the  balls  of  his  feet. 
The  wolf  dog  turned  a  quick  look  at  him  and  glared  back 
at  the  way  her  enemy  had  gone.  He  spoke  softly  to  her, 
snapping  his  thumb.  He  grasped  her  chain,  letting  it 
slip  through  his  fingers  as  he  advanced.  His  hand  rested 
on  her  back  and  his  fingers  fumbled  at  the  snap. 

The  wolf  was  free!  She  was  starting  forward,  crouching, 
bewildered  by  this  liberty.  She  dropped  her  nose  to  the 
ground,  she  went  forward,  at  a  walk,  at  a  trot,  she  reached 
the  edge  of  the  pine;  stopped,  circled,  started  on;  the 
trot  gave  to  a  gallop  and  then  through  the  forest  echoed 
the  long-drawn  hunting  cry  of  her  forebears. 

Inside  the  house,  a  movement,  an  exclamation.  Helen 
Foraker  appeared  in  the  doorway.  She  saw  Goddard, 
the  chain  in  his  hands,  and  as  she  cried  out  to  him  that 
long,  curdling  cry  came  again,  fainter,  reverberating 
through  the  trees. 

*'Milt!    What—" 

Guilty  fright  swept  his  face.  "He'd  Ve  come  back," 
he  said.   "He'd  Ve  come  back  an'  you  — " 

"Milt,  she'll  kill  him!  — You  murderer!" 

She  started  toward  the  trail,  calling  the  dog  breathlessly 


372  TIMBER 

and  stopped  and  faced  about.  Goddard  was  running 
frantically  away  from  her,  looking  over  his  shoulder, 
stumbling  across  the  nursery,  seeking  the  shelter  of  cover, 
of  distance. 

Again  the  hunting  cry  —  and  again,  more  distant, 
fading  away. 

"Oh,  God  help  me!"  the  girl  cried.  "I  can't  let  her — 
I  can't—" 

And  then  she  knew  that  while  her  voice  and  reason 
had  said  farewell  to  John  Taylor  her  heart  expected  his 
return.   But  now  —  death  sped  on  his  trail! 

She  looked  about  wildly.  An  unrooted  tree,  caught  in 
the  current,  was  floating  past  and  her  eyes  followed  it 
with  strange  fascination  as  it  sped  in  the  white  foam. 
It  was  going  that  way  —  the  way  he  had  gone  — 

She  did  not  cry  out  again  but  leaped  down  the  bank 
to  where  her  canoe  lay,  bottom  up.  She  lifted  it  in  her 
slender  arms,  made  mighty  by  that  danger.  She  dropped 
it  into  the  current;  she  dipped  the  paddle  deep.  The 
bow  shot  out  and  swung  downstream,  and  kneeling  in 
the  bottom,  sending  the  gunwale  to  the  water's  edge  with 
every  stroke,  she  drove  forward,  speeding  before  the 
speeding  flood. 

The  trail  Taylor  had  taken  kept  close  to  the  river  for 
a  distance,  then  swung  sharply  to  the  left,  shirting  a 
widening  area  of  swamp ;  for  half  a  mile  it  circled,  edging 
back  toward  the  stream,  coming  out  at  an  old  rollway  and 
then  holding  straight  through  the  timber  toward  the  mill 
as  the  river  swung  away. 

That  was  her  one  chance;  to  beat  the  wolf  to  the 
landing.  If  she  should  fail  in  that  she  would  be  behind 
them  and  helpless  —  and  Taylor  would  be  helpless  before 


TIMBER  373 

the  savage  fangs  of  that  animal.  She  passed  the  floating 
tree,  left  it  behind  rapidly,  sending  her  canoe  forward 
with  all  the  skill  at  her  command,  with  all  the  strength 
which  fear  gave  her  body.  Water  boiled  about  the  bow, 
deep  eddies  fell  backward  from  her  frantic  paddle  to  be 
swallowed  in  the  froth  of  the  eager  current. 

She  swept  down  a  straight  stretch  of  stream,  between 
ranks  of  reeds  and  spires  of  drowned  cedar.  Far  to  her 
left  was  the  path  Taylor  had  taken,  far  to  the  left  of  her 
raced  Pauguk  —  How  fast?  How  far?  She  could  not 
reason,  could  not  calculate.  Two  days  ago  she  had  been 
keyed  to  great  danger,  to  great  activities.  She  had  been 
able  to  think  then,  with  great  clarity,  great  rapidity  but 
the  thing  at  stake  that  day  was  her  property,  her  pride, 
her  devotion  to  her  father's  ideal.  Then  it  had  been 
timber  and  its  related  possessions.  Today  it  was  a  man 
and  her  heart  at  stake  — and  there  was  no  ability  to 
think  or  plan.  Her  breath  was  fast  and  loud  in  her  throat. 
She  prayed  brokenly  — 

She  approached  a  jam,  where  brush  and  snags  had 
lodged.  She  crossed  the  current  toward  the  opening 
where  water  boiled  through.  She  cried  out  when  she  saw 
the  stout  broken  branches  of  a  dead  tree  in  the  froth, 
reaching  up  to  tear  the  bottom  from  her  canoe.  She  tried 
to  stop,  to  back,  to  make  land,  but  could  not  fight  the 
pull  of  the  current.  She  felt  the  impact,  saw  the  bottom 
of  her  frail  craft  bulge  as  it  struck  the  half  submerged 
tree;  saw  the  bulge  run  backward  toward  her,  felt  the 
hard  pressure  of  the  snag  against  her  knee  —  and  she 
was  through,  gasping,  cold  —  but  safe,  and  only  a 
trickle  of  water  coming  through  the  scratched  skin  of 
the  canoe  — 


374  TIMBER 

Time!  Time!  The  current  seemed  to  lose  its  swiftness. 
Her  canoe  lagged;  she  roused  herself  to  even  greater 
effort  and  still  her  progress  seemed  sluggish.  The  muscles 
of  back  and  shoulder  were  tearing  loose  under  the  terrific 
strain  so  she  changed  sides  with  her  paddle  and  the 
change  helped  for  a  moment  —  and  then  she  moved  on  as 
if  propelling  an  awkward  craft  in  dead  water. 

She  could  not  realize  that  she  swept  past  the  banks 
in  a  magnificent  rush;  did  not  know  that  she  was  driving 
that  canoe  as  it  had  never  been  driven  before;  did  not 
understand  that,  roused  to  this  pitch,  all  the  savagery 
of  the  current  was  in  her  favor,  shoving  her,  making  her 
skim  with  incredible  speed. 

On  the  far  side  of  the  swamp  John  Taylor  walked 
rapidly,  hands  driven  deep  into  his  pockets,  head  thrust 
forward.  His  mind  did  not  function;  it  was  numb, 
plastic,  and  he  was  conscious  only  of  the  heaviness  of  spirit, 
the  hopelessness  that  had  been  on  him  — forever,  it 
seemed.  There  had  been  no  glory  in  his  bringing  Rowe 
and  Harris  and  the  others  to  answer  for  what  they  had 
done;  there  had  been  no  sense  of  reward  in  knowing  that 
he  had  thwarted  the  menace  which  he  had  brought  upon 
Helen  Foraker.  He  owed  her  that  much  —  and  more; 
so  much  more  that  he  could  never  balance  the  account. 

He  was  going  away,  he  knew  not  where;  he  would  begin 
again,  with  a  new  sense  of  values,  a  better  balance,  the 
caution  which  makes  men  stable.  But  he  had  no  heart  or 
strength  to  plan.  He  wanted  only  to  be  away  and  forget  — 

Far  behind  him  came  the  wolf  dog.  Her  eyes  were  very 
bright,  her  tongue  lolled  as  excitement  fevered  her  blood. 
Ever  since  that  day  when  Taylor  had  struck  her  the 
impulse  to  hunt  him  down  and  make  him  pay  had  been 


TIMBER  375 

strong  when  her  nostrils  told  her  that  he  was  near.  And 
now  she  was  free,  for  the  first  time  since  puppy  hood, 
and  her  senses  were  functioning  in  her  initial  hunt. 

She  was  unschooled  in  trailing.  She  lost  the  easy  scent 
a  dozen  times  before  she  understood  that  eyes  could  help 
as  well  as  nose  and  that  birds  and  rabbits  which  had 
crossed  the  trail  were  of  no  moment.  She  had  started 
out  at  a  gallop;  her  pace  slowed  to  a  restrained  trot; 
she  ceased  leaving  the  scent  of  the  man;  she  went  faster 
again;  her  voice  lifted  in  greater  assurance.  She  became 
confident,  as  instinct  shaped  itself.  She  broke  again 
into  a  lope,  racing  on  silent  feet  along  the  trail.  Her  fangs 
dripped  slaver  and  her  breath  came  in  eager  hoarseness, 
for  the  scent  was  stronger,  in  the  air,  now,  as  well  as  on 
the  earth.   She  was  closing  for  her  vengeance! 

Out  in  the  river  Helen  rounded  a  sharp  bend  where 
the  current  flimg  itself  at  an  unyielding  bank,  water 
boiling  as  she  kept  her  broaching  canoe  from  the  smart 
eddy  against  the  land.  She  straightened  away  and 
height  loomed  before  her,  faced  with  yellow  sand  — 
Along  that  landing  passed  the  trail. 

She  cried  out  again  for  time  —  Or  was  she  now  too  late? 
Had  he  passed?  Had  the  wolf  passed,  too?  Were  they 
even  then  on  combat  somewhere  yonder? 

A  mist  dinomed  her  eyes  and  she  shook  her  head  to 
clear  them,  for  she  could  not  waste  the  movement  of  a 
hand.  She  rode  high  in  the  canoe,  now;  her  stroke  was 
ragged.  The  rollway  rushed  at  her.  She  lurched  forward 
as  the  bow  touched  the  sand  and  the  stern  swung  down- 
stream. She  stumbled  into  the  water  and  floundered  up 
the  bank,  heedless  of  her  canoe  which  went  on  down  with 
the   current. 


376  TIMBER 

She  struggled  up  the  sand  bluff,  fighting  for  strength, 
mounted  the  overhanging  rim  of  sod  at  the  top,  paddle 
in  her  hand.  The  trail  was  there,  pitted  by  yesterday's 
deluge. 

And  a  man's  footprints,  fresh  —  and  none  else!  She 
heard  her  voice  screaming  for  him  —  And  then  heard 
another  voice,  that  hunting  cry,  coming  down  the  wind. 
She  had  been  in  time  —  !  She  started  forward  as  the  wolf 
appeared,  racing  toward  her  through  the  cool  shadows. 

"Pauguk!"    she  cried.    ^'Pauguk!" 

The  animal's  sharp  nose  lifted,  her  bloodshot  eyes 
met  the  girl's.  The  lope  dropped  to  a  trot;  she  faltered, 
swung  off  — 

'^Pauguk!  Come  here!" 

For  an  instant  it  was  as  though  her  command  had 
struck  through  the  roused  impulses  of  the  animal,  as 
though  Helen's  control  through  years  of  captivity  would 
hold  now.  In  that  fraction  of  time  the  wolf  hesitated, 
one  forefoot  lifted,  nose  quirking,  and  then  the  fangs 
which  had  been  covered  in  that  brief  period  bared  again 
and  a  ragged  snarl  of  defiance  came  from  the  throat. 

The  dog  stiffened,  gathered  and  with  a  roar  rushed 
toward  her  mistress  to  pass  between  her  and  the  river 
and  be  again  on  that  hot  trail. 

She  came  on,  as  the  girl  ran  to  head  her  off,  gathering 
speed  swiftly.  And  then  the  paddle  swung  hastily  and 
the  blade  came  down  on  the  creature's  head;  it  slivered 
and  was  useless  as  implement  or  weapon  but  it  had  turned 
the  animal,  swung  her  about  and  though  she  scrambled, 
raging  against  the  impetus  of  the  blow,  she  went  over 
the  rim  of  sod,  down  into  the  sand. 

She  struck  her  forefeet  down  stiflSy,  gasping  as  she 


TIMBER  Zi7 

fought  against  the  slide  and  turned  on  the  soft  footing 
of  the  slope. 

She  faced  about,  raging,  clawing  to  scramble  upward, 
and  as  she  made  her  first  lunge  a  shout  came  to  them  from 
down  the  trail  and  John  Taylor,  arrested  by  Helen's  cry, 
ran  through  the  trees.  All  sounds  from  the  wolf  ceased; 
all  her  strength  went  into  those  swift  short  leaps  upward. 
Her  eyes  showed  an  orange  glare,  froth  gathered  on  her 
lips  and  hate  was  there  not  only  for  the  man,  now,  but 
for  the  girl. 

Helen  hurled  the  broken  paddle  at  the  wolf  and  missed. 
She  drew  back,  screaming  a  warning  to  Taylor. 

The  head  of  the  animal  appeared  above  the  rim.  She 
raised  herself  on  her  hind  legs  to  scratch  with  paws  for 
the  hold  that  would  bring  her  to  their  level,  and  then 
Helen,  backing  in  fright,  stimibled  over  the  dead  branch 
of  a  pine.   It  was  as  long  as  her  body,  as  thick  as  her  arm. 

''Stay  back!"  she  cried  to  Taylor.  ''Stay  back!" 

Pauguk  found  hold  with  her  paws.  One  hind  foot 
clawed  for  added  grip.  She  strained,  head  flung  back, 
froth  on  her  breast.  She  raised  herself  and  quivering  with 
the  effort  to  hold  her  balance,  she  heaved  forward  and 
was  up,  turning,  drawing  her  haunches  forward  for  that 
last  rush. 

The  tough  branch  lifted  high,  poised,  and  driven  by  all 
the  strength  in  Helen's  body,  crashed  down. 

Its  point  of  contact  was  the  wolf's  skull.  It  cut  short 
the  shrill  yelp  of  exultation.  It  checked  flight,  it  struck 
the  beast  down.  She  tried  to  hold  to  the  brink  as  she 
swayed  from  her  feet,  and  then  went  over,  head  and  tail 
limp,  rolling  over  and  over,  coming  to  rest  at  the  bottom, 
head  submerged  in  the  current,  a  shapeless,  lifeless  body. 


378  TIMBER 

The  cudgel  dropped  from  the  girl's  hands  and  she  lifted 
them  to  her  face,  covering  her  eyes. 

Taylor  was  beside  her.  She  heard  his  excited  questions, 
felt  his  hand  on  her  arm. 

"Milt  turned  her  loose,"  she  said  brokenly.  "He 
turned  her  loose  on  your  trail  —  He  said  you  —  He  said 
that  you  would  come  back  —  and  he  didn't  want  you  to 
come  back  —  ever — " 

He  was  so  still  that  she  lowered  her  hands  and  looked 
up. 

"He  said  that  I  would  come  back?"  he  asked  steadily. 
She  nodded,  mute  before  his  manner.  He  took  one  of  her 
hands  in  his  roughly  and  something  like  great  rage  swept 
into  his  eyes.  "And  you  came  after  me,  to  save  me  from 
Pauguk?" 

"Y-yes,"  very  lightly. 

"Why  did  you  do  that?"   hoarse  voice  rising  in  pitch. 

"She'd  have  killed  you!" 

"Yes  — And  then—?" 

"Killed  you,  John  —  And  then  you  never  could  have 
come  back!" 

She  felt  the  grip  of  his  hand  relax;  a  great  breath  slipped 
from  him. 

"You  wanted  me  back?"  he  whispered.  "Wanted  me 
back  — after  all?" 

''Oh,  I  wanted  you  back  because  of  all,  John!  Because 
I  —  because  I  —  Can't  you  see  that  I  — " 

His  arms,  binding  about  her  body,  drove  the  word 
from  her  lips  —  against  his  lips  —  and  she  was  crying  for 
the  first  time  in  those  weeks  of  distress,  because  there  was 
no  distress  then,  no  misgiving,  no  unhappiness,  and  she 
could  cry  —  for  the  happiness  that  swelled  in  her  heart. 


TIMBER  379 

Behind  them  the  Blueberry  hurled  itself  at  the  high 
bank  and  above,  between  them  and  the  clouds  that  sped 
across  the  brilliant  sky,  the  canopy  of  pine  trees  that 
would  never  be  of  the  past  spread  their  peaceful  shadow 
over  the  two,  like  a  blessing. 


The  End 


14  DAY  USE 

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